Just My Luck
by taylortot
Summary: This year, the Games are different. He just wants to keep her safe, but she'll do anything to keep him alive. Each tribute is allowed to have one companion accompany them to the Capitol. They can't both get what they want. AU
1. Chapter 1: Peeta

_New idea in anticipation of the movie. I like it, and I hope to continue it to practice my writing skills, if nothing else. The Games will probably be a big piece of this fic, so fingers crossed and here we go!_

**One.**

The distant sound of the town bell chimes, letting me know that it is noon. The spring sun shines down on me, burning my golden hair, making me squint against the power of the rays. I should go back home to my mother—I've been out hunting all morning and she'll be bitter if I don't return with my kills soon—but I tell myself it's okay to wait five more minutes. She'll—the Wicked Witch, for lack of better terms—survive.

My best friend Gale is in the same dilemma as me, only his mother isn't a hag like mine. He lounges with me under the sparse tree, it's leaves just beginning to show themselves to the glory of the afternoon. I know that he's rolling his eyes at me, though I can't see anything but his dark hair. He always rolls his eyes at me when I wait at the apple tree just beyond her backyard.

"You know you're whipped, don't you?" he says, glancing over his shoulder, tense. Gale is always tense when I drag him into town; he hates it here. I can't say that I blame him, because most of the townies are just underprivileged snobs. They aren't all that much better than those of us from the Seam, though they all think they sit on a pedestal.

If they do, it's not much of one—dirty and sooty, covered in coal. A pedestal fit for desperate, famished dogs. The Capitol makes sure of that.

"I'm not whipped," I snap back at him, leaning my shoulder into the tree trunk. "I'm just. . .curious." The branches catch in my hair, tangling it. He twists his body so that he's looking at me and raises an eyebrow in question.

"Then you're _always_ curious. She's not worth your time," he says in low voice, ducking his head. "She turns her nose up at you every single time she walks by. _Every_ single time. You should just forget about her, Peeta."

Forget about her? How can I forget about her when she's all I've been able to coherently think of since I was five years old? She's a part of me, whether she—or Gale—knows it. Her existence has wedged itself into the dirt forever lodged under my fingernails, the sound the scraggly tree makes as its branches scratch against my bedroom wall, the chiming of the noon bell, even the smell of the fires I start in the evening. To forget her would be to forget a piece of myself, and I can't do that without becoming a different person entirely.

I sigh because I want to counter his statement, but it's true. "It's not her fault," I struggle to reason. All in all, it's really not. Her fault, I mean. I'm the one that needs to grow a pair to talk to her; of course she turns her nose up at me. She's the baker's daughter from town. I'm the drunken hag's boy from the Seam. Our worlds exist in two different spheres that do not touch.

"Whatever you say, man," Gale says, shaking his head slightly. "I've gotta get home; I promise Posy I'd be back for lunch." He pushes himself away from the tree, and frowns at me, probably because I'm a masochistic idiot and he's wondering why he ever befriended me in the first place. I'm sure these ponderings flit through his head on a daily basis, and he struggles to understand me, but he never confronts me outright about my ridiculous infatuation. Smart of him; as stupidly smitten as I am, I'd probably bite his head off if he said something about her that offended me.

"Alright," I say, trying to manage a smile. He never smiles, so one of us has to be able to do the job. Besides, anytime I'm not home, I'm relatively happy and smiling is almost easy. The Seam isn't a breeding ground for joy per say, and though most of us there are clinging to life by mere fingers, Gale and I do what we can for the people like us—coal miners—to make sure that starvation isn't the one sickness to take us out.

We've been successful. As a boy, my father and Gale's taught the two of us the art of hunting out in the woods beyond the fences of District 12. For as long as I can remember, we've been a part of something good in 12, something that we'd be killed for by the Capitol in an instant if they knew. Only, some of the Peacekeepers are only just scraping by, and by helping them, they keep things quiet for us.

They turn their eyes away from our efforts to keep food on the table for the people of the Seam and in return, Gale and I keep them happy with meat as fine as any that you could buy in the butcher's shop. It used to be a flourishing business, our hunting thing, and starvation was almost unheard of anymore until the day that the mines exploded. It killed my two older brothers and my father in the blast, along with Gale's.

Since then, we've become more tightly knit, a joined family because we need each other more than ever. My mother may be a witch, and I may hate her with every bone in my body, but she's the only family I have left. Love really isn't a factor when life or death is on the line; love is the last thing on your mind.

In fact, love seems like an absurd, frivolous concept until I remember _her_. The darker skin of the Seam reflected from her mother's side, the stormy gray eyes, the way the wind blows stray pieces of her braided hair around a fierce, sharp face. Her slender hands, scarred by the fire, her clothes smelling of fresh baked bread, her full-shaped mouth pressed into a solitary line. It's all so beautiful that sometimes I swear I can't breathe when I see her.

She's not like most townies. Her best friend is the mayor's daughter, Madge, and both of them are quiet and reserved; they keep to themselves. Across the room at lunch during school hours is when I can watch her best without being caught. Gale teases me about it, but it can't last long because some pretty girl has either caught his attention or he's caught hers. I'm generally left alone; the town recluse. Everyone is afraid of a boy who's mother is all but insane.

Gale stares at me for a moment and then starts to back away. "See you at school tomorrow."

I nod his way, my eyes automatically cutting back to her front porch where I know any minute she'll appear with a basket of rolls she's been tasked with taking to the mayor's home.

He laughs at my distracted gaze and shakes his head, hurrying back toward the invisible boundary between the Seam and town. He'll have to go through the city square, and inside I'm smiling about it. If there's one thing Gale hates, its those townies who always hang out at the square.

I suppose Gale has a right to doubt me. Every day we don't have school I come to this apple tree at noon and stand here, trying to muster up the courage to talk to her. It's insane that I have the nerve to slink under the fence, hunt in the woods, and risk death every day to feed hungry, demanding mouths, yet sidling up to a girl to say "Hi" and introduce myself would require the most daring kind of bravery that existed. To date, it seems that that bravery escapes me.

Today is the day though. The last time I had any contact with her was just before my father died, when her little sister Prim had wandered off. She'd been frantic, running through the streets calling her sister's name when I heard her.

"Prim!" she was screaming, her braid flying behind her, her normally reserved expression desperate and vulnerable. Gale had gone out hunting with our fathers that day because I'd had to stay home with the Wicked Witch, who was so sick she had trouble keeping down water. I'd been outside at the pump, filling a cracked vase full of water when I heard her.

I said nothing as I ditched the water pump and joined her in the street. She looked at me with her wide, gray eyes a part of her confused and bewildered at my sudden presence, but she said nothing to me.

"Prim!" I yelled as I trotted along beside her. We kept pace together, looking for her sister, not so much as a word passing between us. I was scared as hell to actually say anything, but she was in pain at the prospect of losing her sister, and I didn't want her to hurt. She was so beautiful that she should never be hurt.

We found Prim in the Meadow by the fence, where I usually enter the woods from. She was plucking dandelions and feeding them to a stray goat she kept calling Lady, grinning madly when we found her. Prim is just as lovely as her older sister, only with the look of a townie that originated from her father with blonde hair and blue eyes.

I left before I could be given attention because though I'd spent the last half an hour with a girl I wanted so badly to be mine, I couldn't bring myself to face her, to hear her ask who I was and why I helped. Too many questions I wouldn't be willing to answer openly.

The back door of the bakery opens and I straighten against the apple tree, my heart thudding in my chest. I feel as if I am on a hunt, exhilarated by the feel of the woods—wild and free—around me. But of course, this is not the woods. It's merely her, doing the kinds of things to my insides that I've given up on explaining.

The wicker basket of rolls swings at her elbow, Prim holding her free hand. Today she is breathtaking with her braid gone, her dark hair shining in the sunlight, being twisted by gentle spring breezes. I take a deep breath and then I'm walking toward her because I can do this. Because I have to do this.

My hands a sweaty. I wipe them off. If she wants to shake my hand, I'm not giving her a sweaty palm. My breath feels too short, but it's difficult to lengthen them. Nerves tighten at my stomach, but that's just another side effect of her presence. Can't back down now.

I'm twenty feet behind her. If I bail out, the Wicked Witch will be waiting at home with a whipping stick and a flask anyways. Ten feet now. The wind blows the smell of bakery bread to me and my stomach growls, making me aware that I haven't eaten anything today. Her hair looks so silky, I wonder if it's as soft as it looks. Five feet. Prim laughs and swings their held hands.

"Katniss," I blurt out. Not very tactfully, I might add. She pauses mid-step and then turns her head just enough to look over her shoulder at me. I'm immediately blustered and I wrack my head for all of those illusions I've ever dreamt of; me saying something witty and her laughing. Instead, I'm empty and speechless as ever, looking into those eyes, gray as ever. "Hi."

Her eyebrows furrow and Prim covers her mouth with her hand, her blue eyes darting up at me with a visible smile in them. "Hello," Katniss says.

It suddenly occurs to me that she might have no idea whatsoever who I am and I feel even more of an idiot. I'm so glad that Gale didn't stay to witness this; as it is, I'll probably never live it down. "I'm Peeta Mellark."

Now she looks amused, though it is deep and hidden. Anyone who hadn't stared at her during a lunch period for years might not have caught it, but I do. "I know. My dad buys your squirrels."

"They're always very good," says Prim, removing her hand and smiling at me sweetly. "We put them in stew and eat them with bread."

My stomach growls at the prospect and Katniss shoots her sister a warning look, but I can hardly process any of it because my mind is racing a million miles a minute. What do I say to this girl whom I have loved my entire life? Anything that comes to mind is far too heavy material for small talk and I don't want to burden her. Somehow, "I love you" seems like too much.

"I'm glad you like it," I say, my tongue thick, managing a smile at Prim. I turn my expression toward Katniss, who's face is unreadable.

"We don't have much time," she says, gesturing toward the basket at her elbow. "Errands to run. Is there something you wanted to trade for? Prim could go fetch my mother."

"No," I respond, shaking my head. "No."

"Alright." She purses her lips and continues to stare at me, as if I'm the one that needs to be deciphered. Can she not see it on my face? How fully and completely she executes power over me? Gale was right; I'm whipped.

"Would you like to go for a walk with us?" Prim asks, somewhat shyly. I look down at her young face, as fresh as spring itself and find myself smiling at her again. I've never known Prim really—just from what I've been able to pick up through Katniss's actions—but I get the feeling she's just the type of person a guy has to smile at.

"You don't have to, if you don't want to," Katniss speaks up. She's watching me closely, mystified by my approach.

I shrug and step up beside her. "It's a nice day."

She hesitates but I smile at her and then there is no more hesitation. We walk, Prim supplying the conversation with more than enough words for the three of us, and I'm left to wonder if Katniss remembers the day Prim went missing as clearly as I do. Her hand swings dangerously close to mind and I have to force myself to keep my eyes on Prim.

The town is in full swing at this time of day. Sunday afternoons are normally busy because most shops are closed, and those that aren't are relaxed. Girls and boys about Prim's age kick a flat rubber ball up and down the street, cheering and laughing. I watch them and remember when Gale and I used to kick a ball around before the burden of supplying food for the Seam was placed upon our shoulders.

The ball at one point comes sailing toward Katniss' bread basket but I jerk my leg out so that it bounces off my knee before I expertly kick it back at the kids. They all cheer and give me a thumbs up before running down a different street.

"Whoa!" Prim exclaims, giggling, eyes wide. "That was a close one, Katniss. Lucky Peeta was here to save you."

My heart nearly stops when Katniss murmurs, "Yeah. Lucky." I don't know if she's being sarcastic or not, but I'll take what I can get.

The rest of the walk is too short. I feel like Prim and I are friends by the time we have dropped the rolls off at the mayor's house and are on the way back to the bakery. Katniss doesn't really say much, but I can feel her eyes on me, watching. I try not to let on that I know, that it's impossible not to feel the way her gaze sweeps across the planes of my pale face and the windswept blonde hair. Features from the Wicked Witch's townie blood.

Too short, too short, too short. I'm standing at the back door of the bakery while Katniss and Prim mount the steps.

"Thank you for coming with us, Peeta," Prim says with a bright smile. "It was lots of fun. Maybe we can do the same thing next week?"

I grin at her, unable to help myself. "I would love that," I tell her. She waves enthusiastically and then darts inside. Katniss pauses with her hand on the doorknob and looks back at me.

"Are you ever going to give me a proper explanation for what just happened?" she asks, the words she didn't want to say in front of her sister.

I run my hand through my hair and shrug. "Maybe."

She closes the door and takes a step closer to me, squinting at me through the afternoon light. "I don't get it. I thought you Seam people hated us."

"I don't hate anyone," I tell her superiorly, "I merely tend to like some more than others." I read her expression and sigh because there are so many things I want to tell her that I can't. Besides, tensions are running high now, which is probably why she looks so agitated with my answers. Reaping day is in just a week, a thought I've been trying to keep out of my head all day. A thought only kept at bay because of Katniss.

She stares at me for a moment before turning for the door. "Goodbye, Peeta."

When the door shuts behind her, all I can think is how beautiful she is when she says my name.


	2. Chapter 2: Katniss

**Two: **_Katniss_

As soon as the door is shut behind me, I rush to the window and peek through the filmy material of the curtains. He is still standing there, staring at my backdoor as if it holds all the answers to the Capitol's secrets. I can feel how my heart pounds in my chest and how the heat burns in my cheeks and it's all I can do to stop myself from smiling.

After a few moments, he turns away and walks quickly down the dusty lane toward the Seam. I let my eyes follow him until he's gone from my sight and then I'm left staring into the distance. Prim clears her throat from behind me and I turn around sharply, hoping my cheeks aren't red anymore.

"It was a nice walk today, wasn't it?" she says archly, giving me a knowing look that makes her seem older than she is. "For some reason, the sun just seemed to shine brighter, don't you think?"

I march to her and brush her hair away from her face before poking her nose. "You be quiet, silly girl," I say playfully, "or I shall leave the task of frosting cookies to you."

She makes a face at me. "But I'm not good at the frosting. Yours always look so much prettier than mine."

I smile and cross my arms over my chest. "Yes, but that doesn't mean I won't do it." I cross the room, heading toward the cabinet to see what I can make the two of us for lunch. There's always bread, but it's stale, and the stew Prim mentioned earlier is more than ready and willing to be reheated.

"Katniss," Prim says in a small voice, curious and bright, as it always is when she wants to know something. It's her way of coaxing information out of me that I'm otherwise not wanting to give. Works every time. If she asked for the Capitol, I will find a way to give it to her.

"Yes?" I say as I'm pulling two bowls out of the cabinet.

"Are you scared for next week?" she asks in a whisper so soft I can barely hear her. All at once, lunch is forgotten and my arms are around her, my cheek pressed against the top of her head. My heart aches and squeezes in my chest and I know how I will answer her.

"Your name is only in the bowl once, Prim," I tell her, trying for a brighter voice, my hand smoothing down her hair in natural gesture. "We have no reason to be afraid." But we do. The Hunger Games are something no one from District 12 wants to be involved in, and though the Seam kids with their names in the bowl for dozens of tesserae servings have more to be worried about, even those of us from town are terrified of reaping day. This is Prim's first year to be entered and eligible but she will be fine. I know she will. She has to.

"But yours is in there four times, Katniss," she whispers, burying her head into my shoulder.

"Hey," I say, pulling away, tilting her chin up so that she has to look at me. "Why don't you go upstairs and paint?"

Her eyes grow round and she shakes her head. "Oh no. Mom and Dad had to save up for a long time to buy you those, Katniss," she tells me. "I don't want to waste them."

I smile at her. "You won't be wasting them, Prim."

She looks hopeful for a moment. It hasn't escaped me, the way she's longingly gazed at my precious box of paints. Straight from the Capitol. My father had to go through a lot of trouble to get them smuggled into District 12 for my birthday this year, and I would have been furious at him and my mother both if they'd been caught doing something for me, but it passed without incident.

I rarely use my paints because they're so expensive and because I can't bear the thought of watching the supplies dwindle until I have nothing left. With Prim, it's different though, and I want her to use them. Better for her to use them than for me, because at least it will bring her happiness at a level I will never reach.

"Are you sure?" she asks.

I kiss her forehead and turn her toward the staircase. "Positive. Go on. I'll make lunch and then we can run to the flower shop and see if Mr. Felders would like his usual order."

"Okay." She takes a step toward the stairs and then pauses, turning back to me and throwing her little arms around my waist. She's up the stairs, in my room above the bakery, before I can say anything else.

While I'm making lunch for us, I have time to let my mind wander. The reaping likes to claim most of my attention, but I insist on pushing it back because I should have no reason to be scared. Four times is nothing compared to the kids from the Seam. Compared to Peeta.

Speaking of Peeta, I wonder how he's dealing with the reaping day. I know he can't get much tesserae because the only other member of his family is Mrs. Mellark, who everyone knows hasn't been right in the head since her husband died in the mine blast about five years ago. His name can only be in the ball eight or so times; the chances of his name being called are about as high as mine.

It makes me feel better. I don't know what Peeta Mellark does to me, but I do know that I haven't been able to stop noticing him since that day Prim went missing. Mom and Dad were in a panic, running all over town searching for her. They left me at home to watch and see if she returned while they were gone, but I couldn't take it. I had to find her too.

Since I knew my parents weren't having luck in town, I headed straight for the Seam, my heart racing, belly dropping to the ground and dragging as I ran and shouted her name repeatedly. I was passing a dirty lane where Peeta was outside at the old public water pump. He saw me screaming for Prim and then joined my search without a word.

I was flustered at first because I was so confused. And later, when we'd found Prim in the Meadow by the fences of 12, he'd disappeared before I could thank him. I always saw him in school—we shared history and gym class together—but I never worked up the courage to say thank you, though I'd wanted so badly to.

The fact that he'd shown up today without any real reason had made my tongue feel clumsy. I didn't know what to say to him, especially since I couldn't figure him out. He has more to be bitter about than me, and yet he's possibly the sweetest boy in all of District 12. Who else would drop everything and help look for a girl with a person he didn't even know? It's been determined that Peeta Mellark is dangerous territory for me, and as much as I try to stop thinking about him, often times, it's useless.

My father comes out of the bakery with flour covering his face as I'm just finishing slathering the stale bread with strawberry preserves, made from the berries that Peeta and his dark-haired friend often bring to our back door. He smiles at me and asks me what I'm doing.

"Making lunch for Prim," I tell him with a smile. When he smiles, it's easy to see how he was able to convince my hard-trusting mother to marry him and move out of the only home she's ever known in the Seam, despite the obstacles she knew she'd face.

His eyes twinkle. "And I was hoping that extra one was for me."

I laugh and shove my toast at him. "Have mine; I'm not that hungry."

After at least ten minutes of arguing, we decide to split it. Then, he goes back into the bakery to continue work with my mother. I call Prim down from upstairs and we both eat in silence. I'm thinking about reaping day and Peeta alternatively, as I have been much of the last couple of weeks. Prim chatters about a boy named Vick in one of her classes and how he always interrupts the teacher's lectures and has to sit in the hallway all of the time. I try to listen.

When we're done, she clears away my dishes and then we grab out jackets. I open the door of the bakery and tell my mother that Prim and I will be checking in with Mr. Felders. She smiles at me and waves us on, telling us not to be too long; the rush hour will be coming soon and she'll need Prim at the counter and me in the kitchen. I promise her we won't be more than an hour.

Just like always, it feels different as soon as I step out of my home. Eyes slide toward me and glance away, and as we walk, there are whispers. I did a good job of ignoring them earlier because of Peeta, but now it's hard to tune them out.

I've lived with these whispers for years. Prim doesn't get much of the heat of the town's dislike, but me and my mother are widely unpopular because of our appearances. While Prim and my father are pale and blue-eyed, my mother and I have the darker, olive-skin tone of the Seam and straight, dark hair.

I don't put up with it, of course, and when the teasing gets bad at school, I make sure the bully knows good and well what his or her waggling tongue will get them if they keep prattling, but I can't help how it's shaped me. I'm bitter and guarded and hopelessly wary of everyone that lives in town.

Seam people are mostly no better. Though I look like them, my mother is sort of seen as a traitor, in the mildest sense of the word, and therefore, I have fallen to collect the brute force of that dislike since I leave the bakery more than she does. They always say the same things, Seam and townies, and maybe that's why I find it so hard to trust. Outside of my home, I'm welcome nowhere and hated by everyone.

It turns out that Mr. Felder hasn't made enough money this week to buy any loaves, but he gives Prim and me a flower each for the trouble of us walking out. I would have declined the flower except Prim looked so happy and they were wilting, dying things already. I figure they aren't going to last long anyways.

When we get home, I go upstairs to change out of my day clothes and into my kitchen wear. It's a ratty blue shirt that hangs awkwardly off one shoulder and a pair of tawny pants with my faded leather boots. I braid my hair back from my face and then go to the bakery.

I'm still at the front of the store, taking an apron off the hook and tying it around my waist when the door opens. I turn around to see Madge coming in, smiling at me. I smile back at her. She's just about the only person from town that isn't my family that I actually like.

"My dad said you'd stopped by earlier," she says as she approaches me, her voice strangely clipped.

I nod. "Yeah. Just dropping off your daily supply of dinner rolls."

"Hi, Madge!" Prim trills as she walks into the store and heads to the front counter. She's got her hair pulled back in a ponytail, strands of it clinging to her eyelashes and curling around her ears. She hops up onto the counter stool and sits wear she will wait for the customers to arrive, pulling a book out from under the counter that my father has managed to save for years. It's got a lot of pictures and childish phrases, but Prim loves it.

"Hey, Prim," Madge replies with a smile in my sister's direction. She turns back to me and notes the apron I've just donned. "You've gotta go to work, huh?"

"Yes," I say with a sigh. I'm hoping I need to do the frosting; I burned the back of my hand pretty badly last week working with a pie and it's only just stopped hurting. I hate being in such close proximity to fire.

"Too bad; I was going to see if you wanted to go for a walk in the park," she says. "It's a nice day." Her eyes are too honest when she's looking at me and I realize that she knows something that I don't and that I need to talk to her immediately. There's an air of urgency to her that I didn't notice when she came in and I feel myself tense because it's clearly not knowledge that can be easily shared. Her eyes glance warily at Prim, who's engrossed in the much-loved book.

"I can't," I say with heavy regret, feeling distressed because she looks so eager and, if I'm not mistaken, almost terrified.

Madge stares at me for a moment. "You sure you can't come after work?"

I shake my head. "We're don't close until later tonight and we have to work on reaping day preparations."

She bites her lip and digs a hand into her pocket, as if her fingers are chilled in the hot, stifling air of the bakery. "I thought you might say that." She pulls her hand back out of her pocket and then shoves something crinkled into my hand. I understand that I have to bury it deep in my pocket and save it for later, when my eyes are the only ones open to see it in the safety of my own room.

Her yellow hair brushes against her face and she walks back towards the door. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, Katniss. Bye, Prim."

My sister looks up from her book, startled, before waving sweetly at Madge. I watch my friend go, my hand still clenched around the paper in my pocket. It's several moments before I can let it go and even then, I'm jostled to work when my mother comes out of the back rooms and hollers for me to come help her.

I'm not frosting, but I'm kneading dough, which isn't so bad. My father is checking inventory and helping Prim with the front as the customers pour in while mother and I are making the loaves. The time passes quickly because all I can think of is Madge and the paper she got me and how on edge she looked when she came in.

By the time we close the store for the night, I'm exhausted and up to my elbows in sticky dough. After cleaning ourselves up, I say goodnight to my family and head to my room. As soon as the door is closed behind me, I turn on my flickering electricity—you can pretty much always count on it to be working around this time—and shove my hand into my pocket producing the paper.

I unfold it carefully and then feel my heart stop as I read Madge's messy scrawl.

_Dad got a call from the Capitol. Reaping day is irrelevant this year. They've already picked the tributes._

_::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::_

_Thoughts? I really hope you guys are enjoying this one, and that I'm staying true to Katniss's voice, though she's been raised in a different environment. Thanks for all the support so far and I hope you continue to keep reading!_


	3. Chapter 3: Peeta

Three: Peeta

It's still early spring, so the air is cold as it blows in my window. I stare up at the ceiling with my thin sheets pulled up to my chest, my hands tucked behind my head. The sheets aren't heavy enough to protect me from the icy breeze, and though I'm cold, I feel unaffected and restless.

I haven't been able to properly think since I left Katniss' house this afternoon. Prim did more talking than either one of us, but she'd been by my side for at least half an hour, our hands swinging within an inch of each other. It was more than I can say for the last sixteen years of my life. Is it sad that I'd never felt more alive?

The Wicked Witch is muttering in the next room, both hands clasped around the necks of liquor bottles that I brought home after my walk today to appease her. She didn't try to whip me tonight, and it's always a relief when I don't have to use my strength to stop her. I protect myself from her, always have, and I'm stronger than her. It's the only reason she's never been able to scar me after my father died and she went crazy. Well, _crazier_.

Dawn is approaching fast and I can tell it will be another sleepless night in the Mellark household, for both of us. I can't stop seeing Katniss looking at me with that sense of surprise and curiosity, and I know the Witch is having a hard time drinking while lying on her back. It doesn't matter though. I'm having a fantastic time replaying Katniss' facial expressions, especially since they are ones that I was able to experience first hand.

I lie there like a stupid, love-struck puppy until the cold streaks of silver announce the arrival of the sun over the mountains in the distance. My eyes are heavy and exhausted, but especially now I can't sleep. School is in just a few hours, and Gale and I have to execute our early morning hunting trip for the Hob if we don't want to go out tonight.

I'm just slipping my boots back on when I hear the three, sharp raps on my bedroom wall and I know Gale is out there. I knock back a four cadence sequence to tell him I'm coming and then poke my head out of my room.

The Witch is sprawled out on the love seat I managed to buy with a bear carcass last year—took me forever to get the whole thing into 12!—and it's wonderful to see that she's treating it with such care. Liquor stains on the velvet cushions, tears in the backrest where her nails have scratched in her mental spasms I'll never understand. Yes. It's such a good idea to buy her nice things and watch her destroy them. I guess that's what I get for being so naïve.

Her eyes are glossy in a drunken haze and she doesn't even blink when I stomp across the room to the door and leave. I feel myself growing angry as I always do when I'm forced to look at the Witch's condition. She should have been up at this hour, cleaning laundry for town folks, or scrounging up her supplies to clean houses or mend clothes, like other women in the Seam. She should have been a _mother_.

Gale notes my sour mood immediately as he hands me a flask of strong, dark tea that his mother has brewed for us this morning. "Good morning, sunshine," he says in a voice that is clearly not him.

I roll my eyes at him and begin stomping down the lane towards the woods. "Not in the mood this morning, Hawthorne," I grumble. It takes a lot for me to get angry and I rarely do, even at the Witch—even when she tries cutting me open with my butcher knife in the kitchen or throwing our only good water vase at me. But with thoughts of the reaping looming in my mind, and the Witch's infuriating ignorance to all that is around her, sometimes, I just can't take it.

"You look like the dead," he observes as he falls into step beside me. "Eat anything?"

I shrug and take a swig of the tea. "The Witch drank away yesterday's haul in one night. What do you think?"

"I've got extra," he says, almost kindly, exposing two golden coins in his palm before pocketing them again. "I was thinking we could treat ourselves to breakfast this morning, as a sort of celebration."

I laugh bitterly and look at him through the dimness of the early morning. "Celebration?"

He shakes his head, but there's a twitch of a smile at his mouth. "Can't believe you did it, Mellark. I thought for sure you'd wimp out before she even made it out the door."

All at once, I understand and my anger is immediately forgotten. "So you heard?"

"Heard?" He glances at me like I'm crazy, which maybe I am. "You know that townies are always targeting her. It would be hard to miss the Witch's Seam boy walking around with her."

I make a sound of disgust at the back of my throat and toss back some more tea. Not for the first time, I wish it was something stronger. "Ugh, Gale, please. I don't belong to that woman."

He nods as we approach where the Seam meets the town. "True that."

I look around, noticing that we aren't headed for the Hob, where I thought he was going to get us breakfast. "Where are we going?"

Gale has a glint in his eye, that kind he usually reserves for those small moments when he's actually fun to be around and doesn't act like a total stick in the mud. "Thought you'd want to see your girlfriend again, Peeta."

My heart stutters in my chest and I have to hide it because Gale would laugh and call me a girl if he knew how even the mention of her affected me so completely. "What?"

He shrugs. "Fresh bread, man. Can't get any better than that." Right. Because that's the reason he's dragging me along.

No, I know what he's thinking. He wants to see how I'll handle it; I know that he's curious to see if Katniss and I are as cozy as perhaps he heard we were yesterday. Honestly, I can't blame him because right now, I'm having a hard time believing that any of it actually happened.

We walk the rest of the way to the bakery in silence. Every step that brings me closer makes my heart beat a little faster and there's a curl in my stomach that I can't identify. I think it's one part dread and two parts anticipation, but I can't be sure. Katniss does a lot of things to me that I can't be sure of.

I'm almost relieved when we arrive and a very sleepy looking Prim is dozing with her head on the counter. Gale and I step up toward her, our boots scuffling against the wooden floors and her head shoots up, an apologetic look of shock on her face.

"Peeta! Oh, I'm so sorry," she says in a blur, smoothing back a few stray hairs from her open face. She looks so frantic that I can't help but smile, hoping that my easy expression will put her at ease. Her sweet demeanor is just too hard to dislike—anyone heartless enough to scowl at Primrose Everdeen would be just that: heartless.

"Good morning, Prim, this is my friend Gale," I say. "Early morning?"

"Hi, Gale." She relaxes and rubs her eyes tiredly with a sheepish smile. "Katniss dragged me out of bed early to help her in the kitchen before my parents got up. She wanted to surprise them by getting things started for them. We usually don't get up until six," she explains.

I laugh lightly and smile wider. "Your sister sounds as if she was a bit of a tyrant this morning."

Prim giggles, her cheeks turning slightly pink. "Oh yes, that's Katniss alright. The biggest, meanest bully I ever met."

"I'll bet," I say, going along with it. I hardly remember that Gale is standing next to me, taking all of this in with his sharp intuitions, that I haven't gotten a wink of sleep in over a day, that the reaping is Sunday. Right now, I'm only Peeta talking to Prim very early before Monday classes start. "Is she always so cruel?"

"Of course!" Prim continues jovially. She doesn't look as if I just caught her sleeping at the counter anymore. "So very cruel. Yesterday, she let me use her paints and snuck me one of her frosting flowers!"

"The nerve!" I exclaim and then we are both laughing.

"Something funny?"

I stop mid-laugh and look up sharply to see that Katniss is leaning against the wall, the apron tied around her caked with flour, her hair stuck to her head from sweat caused by the heat of the ovens. Her posture is casual, but her eyes tell me she's heard every word of my conversation with Prim and I don't know whether to be embarrassed or ashamed.

Gale seems to be enjoying this, though. His mouth twitches again. Wow. A good day so far; almost two smiles in less than an hour.

Prim seems a bit shy when she looks at her sister. "Look, Katniss, we have a customer."

Katniss' eyes roam over me slowly and flick at Gale before she nods at her little sister. "I see that." She takes a few steps forward, coming into the light of the candle burning near the counter and then I see the bags under her eyes, the ones that must match mine. She's gotten as much sleep as I have; I immediately want to know what caused her such distress and tell myself that I will ask her. Later.

"We're just here for a loaf," Gale says in a low, smooth voice, speaking up for the first time since we entered the bakery. He digs the two coins out of his pocket and places them on the table.

Katniss stares at the money for a moment before turning around and opening one door of the warming rack. She takes out a fresh loaf of cheese bread and wraps it in wax paper. Prim watches her sister for a moment before glancing at me. We exchange a smile, and I know both of us are too embarrassed at being caught talking about Katniss to say anything else to one another. I find myself liking Prim more and more.

Gale nudges me with his elbow and raises one eyebrow. I make a face at him because it's the only thing I can think to do that will save my dignity. He told me I was whipped and I denied it, though it is so obviously true.

Both Gale and I start as Katniss shoves the loaf across the counter and with a straight face, says, "No charge."

He takes the money back immediately, probably figuring it's decent because we'll most likely end up bringing back some goodies to hand off to the Everdeens later, but I can't help it when my eyebrows furrow. It's not that I know she's pitying us for being Seam people because she knows we are more than capable to provide for ourselves using the wild. She's not. I know her family needs that money.

"Are you sure, Katniss?" My tongue feels clumsy because I'm always clumsy around her.

She nods at me and brushes absentmindedly at her cheek, smearing flour across her skin. "Really, Peeta. I know what I'm doing."

Gale nudges me again. "You heard her, blondie. Let's get going before all the game has taken their morning drink at the pond."

"Bye, Peeta!" Prim calls waving madly at us, a grin split across her face. "Bye, Gale!" Gale grunts something in reply and is out the door in two seconds flat. I'm right behind him when I hear Katniss speak, and look over my shoulder to make sure that I heard things correctly.

"I'll see you at school," she says, and then turns and heads back into the bakery. I recover quicker than I did yesterday and turn on my heel. Suddenly, history class seems a lot more exciting and I've never been more eager to be inside the symmetrical, perfect lines of a Capitol inducement.

Gale and I bring in a good, healthy haul considering we've only got two and a half hours to shoot and make it back to the Hob before school. By the time we are walking the dusty lane toward the school grounds, we are each jingling with the weight of ten coins a piece.

Since Gale is older than I am, we have different class schedules, and he gives me a friendly shoulder punch before parting for his first hour, a girl I knew he took to the slag heap last weekend trailing after him like a lost dog. I grin to myself because I know she's going to be one of those girls—the kind he has trouble shaking. It's good for him. At least, I think it is. It's funny, at least.

My mind is a muddled mess before the first bell rings because I'm so eager to see her. Will she look at me? Smile? Talk to me? I don't know what to expect anymore now that things are different.

She enters the room just as the final bell sounds, the bags under her eyes more definite in the full lighting of the morning, the tense bunching of her shoulders more prominent that I'd realized. Something is on her mind.

A shock runs through me when she takes the seat directly in front of me and I feel a warm tingle of pleasure follow the sensation. It's impossible to worry about the reaping when the girl of all my dreams is finally realizing that I exist, impossible to worry about anything, really.

We don't talk during the entirety of the history lecture, and when the teacher is finishing up, he clears his throat. "It's reaping week," he announces glumly, and immediately the kids in the room pull taut like a bow string. Clearly, he's under as much oppression as the rest of the citizens of District 12. "So. . .no homework tonight."

The atmosphere in the room lessens a bit, but not by much. We've been given five minutes of extra class time that we never get, but how can that ever compensate for the terrifying idea that someone in this room may be fighting for their life in just a few short weeks? I don't have time to think about it right now.

I hold my breath, wondering if I should be the first one to say something, when she turns around and looks me in the eye.

"Can I ask you something?" she says bluntly. Well, hello to you too, Katniss.

"Sure," I say surprised. How can I say anything otherwise when she ambushes me like that?

"And you have to tell me the truth." Her gray eyes narrow slightly as a strand of loose hair falls from her braid and into her eyelashes. She brushes it away with a sense of purpose and controlled urgency.

"Of course," I reply. Other kids in the room are chattering too, though I can feel more than a few eyes directed our way. I get the feeling they're talking about us.

Katniss regards me for a few moments before speaking. "Why are you following me around all of a sudden?"

All of a sudden? So I've been expertly sneaky these past eleven years? Excellent. "I—."

"Because if you're just trying to talk to me as some part of joke, it's not going to work." She looks completely confident in herself and a little scary, if I'm being honest.

"Joke?" I echo, trying to get on track with her thoughts. Where in the world is she going with this?

Now she looks uncomfortable, and likewise, so am I. I want to put her at ease, but I don't know what's going on in her mind. I may have watched her for years, but this is the first actual conversation I've ever had with her.

"Yeah," she replies. "You know. Between you and your hunting buddy."

And then I get it. She's worried that I'm only using her. For my own entertainment. So that I can make fun of her later when she can't see or hear me. The fact that she even thought of that possibility at all makes me scathingly angry, but not at her. How can people have treated her so wrongly throughout the years that the first time someone tries to be her friend, she's afraid it's not real? It's disgusting, and I don't blame her for doubting me. Not for one minute.

I lean across the wooden desk on my forearms, suddenly intense and earnest. "I would never hurt you that way," I say honestly. Perhaps too honestly, but whatever. She needs to know the truth about me, and with reaping day approaching, sooner may be better than later.

She is carefully unexpressive when I tell her this, but she looks relieved. Her shoulders drop slightly and she releases a breath. I'm just glad to know that she believes me so easily; it must not be difficult. Everything she makes me feel is written clearly across my face for her to see.

"Thank you for being so kind to Prim," she murmurs, her eyes flashing to my face and away. "I know everybody from town loves Prim, but I didn't realize that Seam people were also subjective to her charms."

I laugh as I think of Prim's sweet, infections smile. "We're people too, Katniss," I say, and then I'm more serious. "Some of us are awful, but others. . .they're only trying to survive." And by that, I mean me. Surely she knows that.

The bell rings and she stands up abruptly, her eyes flickering down at me for a moment. "Come find me at lunch," she says, her voice nearly drowned out by the sound of kids filling the hallways. I try to reply to her, but she's out of the room before I can even get out of my desk.

I spend the rest of the morning anticipating lunch. I don't know what to expect, but I understand that Katniss wants to share something with me, possibly something important. Possibly alone. Suddenly, I feel flustered.

Throughout my next two classes, which I share with the mayor's daughter, Madge Undersee, I catch her staring at me with furrowed eyebrows. I try to avoid her gaze because I know how much her father despises the Witch. The day I received my father's medal next to Gale on the steps of the Justice Building, the Witch clamored into the building and started screaming on and on about faults and wrongdoings and blame.

I remember blocking most of it out, but it's hard to forget the image of her being stuck in the neck with a syringe after going on such a public rampage. The mayor was humiliated and I frowned upon. That was going to be the first of many days in which District 12 sneered and whispered about my existence.

Still, Madge has no reason to be unfriendly to me. I'm even sure her father likes me, with all the strawberries Gale and I bring to their backdoor all the time. After all, I like to say that I've proven myself worthy of being treated like a person. I'm not crazy. I'm not the Witch.

Then, I feel stupid because I realize who Madge is. Katniss' best friend. Of course she's giving me funny looks; if Katniss thought I was just using her for my own sick entertainment, then what must Madge be thinking? I'm not afraid of her, and when the bell rings just before lunch, I hurry to her desk and stop her before she can leave the room.

"You can stop glaring at me," I say in a low voice that I'm hoping doesn't carry. "I've not done anything wrong."

Madge picks the dilapidated book off her desk, avoiding eye contact. "I'm not glaring at you. You Seam boys, always creating so much drama in school. . . " She shakes her head and then tries to step around me.

"I just want to be her friend," I tell her softly.

She pauses and looks up, our eyes meeting. I hope she can read the total sincerity on my face because I'm giving it the best I've got. "It's not smart," she replies gently. "I have nothing against you, Peeta, but it's just not smart."

I want to demand why she thinks that way, but she slips out of the room and I'm left to follow her. I remember that Katniss is waiting for me to find her and then I'm hurrying to dump my books off in my shoulder bag, flying across the courtyard to the soot-ingrained picnic tables. Since spring is coming on warm and fast, we are able to eat outside again.

My eyes search for the dark braid once I'm in the commons. Easily, I spot Madge at their usual table, but no Katniss, and when I spin around, that same girl who was following Gale earlier is sitting close to him at our table. I could swoop in and save him, but I've got to find Katniss.

I pace anxiously along the fence that separates the commons from the boundaries of District 12 on the opposite side of the Seam, my eyes scanning the crowds of people. I stop in surprise when I hear my name being hissed from the opposite side of the fence.

"Peeta!" she's saying.

I glance through the diamond shaped metal links, looking for her face. Everything appears normal except for the chunk of bread tossed at the base of a tree. This is how I know that she's waiting for me beyond the fence. My eyes follow the barrier down to where there's a small alley between it and the building, hidden from the view of most students.

I make my way down there and shimmy under a hole I find easily on the ground and into a bush. My hands push me along on the ground for several yards until I'm shielded by the trees and them I'm looking for her.

"Katniss?" I say quietly.

She steps out from around the trunk of a tree and I'm struck again by how tired she looks. I'm used to getting very little sleep, but it's apparent that whatever she's got on her mind is weighing heavily on her.

Without really thinking it through, I'm rushing towards her and we are standing only a few feet apart under the boughs of a weeping willow tree.

She's in a surprising state of distress. Her braid is coming loose, strands of it draping across her shoulders and her gray eyes are troubled and wary.

"I don't know why I came to you," she says immediately in a quiet voice. Though the din of the lunch crowd is rowdy, we can't risk being found out here. "I hardly even know you. But I needed to tell someone and I don't have many options." She looks up at me and I know that Prim wasn't one of them.

"What is it?" I ask, trying to sound understanding and trustworthy. I want Katniss to come to me; she has to know that whatever happens, she'll be safe with me. Always.

She leans in a little bit, her voice dropping even lower. "Yesterday, my friend Madge stopped by the bakery and gave me this." I feel a shock of warmth when she presses her hand into mine, a wad of paper the only thing separating out skin.

In order not to look like a complete bimbo, I shake the warmth away and open the crinkled paper, reading it once, twice, three times when I can't believe what it says. A knot tightens somewhere in my body and I don't know how to believe it right now.

"What the hell?" I say, bending down. Our foreheads are close now and if things were suddenly so terrifying I'd have noticed it with a blush in my cheeks.

"She doesn't know what it means," she tells me, shaking her head, "but she thinks that the Capitol is going to tell her father tonight who the tributes are." I can see in her eyes that she's just as scared as I am. The Capitol has never hand-chosen the tributes; it's always been a thing of chance. It doesn't make any sense that they would do this now, not when 73 years of tradition have declared it otherwise.

I wish I knew what to say to make her feel better. "There are about three-thousand of us eligible in District Twelve, Katniss," I say gently. "The odds of you getting sent to the arena are slim to none."

She shrugs and meets my gaze fearlessly. "It's not really me that I'm worried about."

I try not to see the double meaning in that, but a part of me wonders if it's not just Prim she's thinking about. Unthinkingly, I touch her hand, before pulling away, remembering my place. "Thanks for telling me," I say.

She smiles a little, though there is little to smile about right now. "You're welcome, Peeta."


	4. Chapter 4: Katniss

**Four: Katniss**

Peeta chooses me for his partner today in physical education.

The eyes of the class feel glued to me as I walk toward him with my head held high, but I refuse to acknowledge anyone but Peeta. As much as I still feel skeptical about him, there's a part of me that says he's sincere. It's hard to believe otherwise when he's grinning at me like Prim on her birthday.

I stand close to Peeta, but I don't let my eyes meet his. His proximity is enough to make me feel a little fuzzy and I don't like it. In gym class—where I'm a constant target for Seam kids and townies alike—I have to keep my focus. I'm the fastest, most nimble girl in the class, but that can only get me so far.

He smiles at me still when I take my place next to him, as if the rest of District 12 hasn't been whispering and staring at us for the past week. I don't know what makes him so friendly to me, and though all of him confuses me, I can understand that I'm grateful.

"I think Vesna is giving you the stink eye," I whisper to him as other boys pick their girl teammates. Vesna Drannel has had her beady eyes on Peeta since kindergarten, and I guess I can't blame her. He's strong and tall, his skin golden from all those hours spent in the forest beyond District 12. He flashes his smile at me again and I can't imagine him ever looking sad.

"No, I do believe that's directed at you," he whispers back. We both glance toward Vesna, who looks away quickly from us, and it's impossible to tell who's right.

"Say we're both on her hit list," I conclude.

"Diplomatic," Peeta replies with a detectable note of praise in his voice. "Say you're right; I'd be the first one to go." It's been like this all week with him. After meeting with him outside the fence at school on Monday, things just sort of fell into place. When I'm not baking, I'm with Peeta. It's the same when he's not hunting.

I don't know why I feel such a sudden attachment to him, but I see him with Prim, and the way he'd rather take a joke out on himself than hurt anyone else, and I know that he's good. Unbelievably good, for someone brought up in the Seam. I'm not saying I have a particular vendetta against those people, it's mostly his mother I'm thinking of.

We haven't talked in my house or his. It's usually in the park, where a weeping willow drapes over the sooty grass. That tree is generally the best place to go for us to talk without collecting attention, but they don't call it the Naked Nook for nothing. I've seen things in those drooping boughs that I could have gone my whole life without noticing. Basically, it's the slag heap of town.

The unenthusiastic teacher—a woman who's bones look frail enough to snap where she stands—waves us towards the poorly kept court where we've been assigned spots on the floor. Peeta and I make our way toward one of them and begin to kick a ball back and forth as instructed.

Now that we're not the center of attention at the moment, I relax slightly and share in Peeta's contagious smile. "You've got a death wish," I tell him.

He nods. "There are a number of things that support that, but which one in particular do you have in mind?" He kicks the ball at an angle and I'm quick enough to catch it at the instep of my foot before sending it back to him.

"Picking me as your partner," I say without much hesitation. I can consider Peeta a friend now, especially after the things we've whispered to each other about the Capitol in the Naked Nook.

"It doesn't matter to me, what people say about us," he replies. "I know who you are and I know who I am. I know what we do. That's all that matters." He says it so matter-of-factly and it sounds so completely sincere that I find myself suddenly believing the same thing.

"Gale doesn't care?" I ask as I receive the ball again.

"He thinks I'm insane," he says as I kick it back to him, "it's true, but he doesn't have a problem with you."

"What about your mother?" I try not to ask him about his mother because I see the look he gets in his eyes when she's mentioned, but if I'm going to be as secure in my sort-of friendship with Peeta as he is, then I need answers.

His face closes for a moment before he mutters, "That Witch can barely see her own hands she's so drunk all the time. She doesn't give a damn about me."

It's stupid, but I want him to tell me about her. I've known him—truly known him—for all of one week and I already find myself feeling fuzzy and curious. It's dangerous and I can't afford to think that way.

"Well," I say offhandedly, "if it's any consolation_, the Capitol cares_!" My voice is high and fake because I'm repeating District 12's tribute wrangler Effie Trinket's words from last night's mandatory preparation viewing. It was just a quick thirty minute segment on the things the Capitol is doing to prepare for the Games. The interviewer, Caesar Flickerman, somehow managed to make twenty five of those minutes about Effie's new hair color.

Peeta looks up at me and cracks a small smile, but that trace of pain is still contorting his face. "Don't tell me that was supposed to cheer me up."

I grimace as I kick the ball at him. "I'm not very good at the comforting thing; sorry. You're going to have to stick to your hunting buddy for that one."

He stops the ball with his foot and rolls his eyes. "Find comfort in a man who takes joy in setting snares and watching helpless animals dangle from them? Brilliant."

This rubs me the wrong way, but I suppose I deserve it after bringing up his mother. The teacher blows a shrill whistle and then we are given a short lecture on the rules of Kick. We are not allowed to use our hands and we have to kick the ball into the opposite team's goal to score. Easy.

Peeta and I make a good team. We are both fast and precise with our movements, but where I have more caution, he is all action. It's a fitting balance. By the end of the period, we are the standing winners and our classmates suddenly have a reason to hate us even more. I'm panting, but he looks like he's barely broken a sweat and I wonder how often he's had this much exertion in the forest.

"Do you need some water?" he asks, his eyebrows furrowing as I lean my back against the wall.

I shake my head. "I'm alright," I say breathlessly.

He sighs and brushes past me toward the fountain, which will trickle a stream of warmish water on any good day. "You don't have to act so tough for me, Katniss," he says as he brings the small, cracked plastic cup to me. I take it without a word and drain it before I allow him to set it back on the fountain.

I'm not sure that he's right about that one. I like to think I'm tough, but in all reality, I'm essentially terrified. Nothing is safe about where I live, and even if the Seam and town didn't have such a cruel rivalry, District 12 is the Capitol's waste land.

"Thanks," I say simply instead. "You were good in the game."

He smiles as he leans against the wall next to me, both of us waiting for the class dismissal bell. "Not as good as you," he says sweetly, and when our eyes meet, I feel like I've known him for a thousand years.

Its Saturday and the shop is in full swing. Prim's clear voice is calling back the orders as soon as they're placed and I'm darting to and from the storage racks, calmly and quickly gathering the breads and pastries being asked for. Mother and Father are in the back working with the fire.

The rush is more than welcome because I still have no idea what tomorrow will be like and I don't want to think about it. I had began thinking that I knew what to expect of the reaping, that I had to only fold my hands and pray that me and Prim would not be sent into an arena designed to slaughter us in the most brutal way possible.

According to Madge, her father has been in conference with the Capitol every night this week about the 74th Hunger Games, but as sneaky as she's always been at stealing tidbits of information from underneath the crack of the door, she hasn't got a clue who the tributes are or why they've already been picked.

It won't be me or Prim. How can it be? Thousands of slips and Prim's is in there just once; mine only four. The possibilities of one of us being drawn to compete in the Hunger Games is about as probable as the Capitol handing it's power over to us here in District 12.

Once business stars to slow down, Prim begins to restock the racks while I haul bags of flour from our kitchen into the workspace of the bakery. It doesn't take her long since I'd done a good job at keeping them full, and soon she's helping me with the flour.

"I don't know how you do this yourself," she tells me, her face red from strain as we walk it into the back. "You're so crazy strong, Katniss."

I laugh at her and allow her to set her end down on the floor before I toss it on top of the pyramid I've began to make. "Only because I'm older than you," I say, looking back at her. My smile drops as I take in her expression—ghost white, clammy skin, bloodshot eyes. If I hadn't been so preoccupied with my own thoughts this past week, I would have noticed. I'm angry that I've neglected my little sister.

"Prim," I say, holding out my arms, trying to keep the harshness I feel toward myself inside. "What's wrong?"

She comes to me immediately, her arms wrapping tightly around my waist as she buries her head into my shoulder. "I'm scared, Katniss," she mumbles, sounding weepy.

I feel my arms clutch her tighter. "You've nothing to be scared for Prim," I whisper as I press my cheek to the top of her head. One slip in thousands. I have to remind myself that my words should be true.

"But I'm scared for you," she says as her back shudders under my hold. "And what about Peeta? Katniss, he's got four times as many as you!" I should have realized that Prim would be concerned for him after all that he's done this past week. They've shared more words than Peeta and I have.

"Peeta is going to be fine," I tell her gently. I tell myself that this should be true, too, and I'm not insisting on this purely for Prim's sake. I'm wishing it for Peeta's and mine. And even his friend Gale's. Even his witch of a mother's. Life is just so much more wholesome with Peeta Mellark in the picture, and I've believed that since the day he helped me look for Prim.

She leans away and looks up at me with her large, blue eyes and I can't help but frown because she's feeling so much pain and there is virtually nothing I can do to stop it. I can't stop the reaping. I can't stop the Hunger Games from taking place every year. Eventually, someone Prim knows on a personal level is going to be taken away from her because of the Capitol and I'm powerless to do anything about it. I hate knowing that.

"How about a cookie?" I whisper so that my parents don't overhear. They aren't tyrants about our baked goods, but if they knew how often I allow Prim to eat a frosted cookie, I'd be in all sorts of trouble.

She shakes her head and lays it back against my shoulder. "No. I just want to sleep all day tomorrow and wake up when it's over." I want to give her that luxury—would even take it for myself—but we can't.

"I'm sorry, Prim," I say and I hope that she can hear everything I'm apologizing for in those three words.

Her cheek plumps up and that's how I know she's smiling. "I love you, Katniss."

I kiss the top of her head. "I love you too, Prim."

After a few more silent moments, my mother peers around the corner and catches us standing there doing nothing. She smiles and gently scolds us before sending us back into the store front with a playful shooing gesture. Prim giggles as I take her hand and lead her back out.

My heart stutters in surprise when we enter the room to see Peeta standing hesitantly beyond the glass windows. He can't see past the pastry displays so close to the glassy surface, but I can see him. His expression is torn and pained as if there is something on his mind. I can tell he's trying to decide whether to come inside or not—to escape the spring downpour of rain that's soaking him through—but then his shoulders sag and he turns away.

Prim releases my hand immediately and then she's running to the door and pushing it open. It's late in the afternoon, when most shops are closing and he'll have done is hunting and trading for the day, but I still can't fathom why he came here. We may be friends, but it was an unspoken agreement not to see each other again this weekend—the reaping was just too close for comfort.

"Peeta!" Prim yells into the rain. I snag a clean hand towel from underneath the counter because I know he'll need it when my sister convinces him to come inside. It doesn't take her long either. She beckons to him with her hand and after a moment of hesitation, he turns around and is slouching through the door.

"You're soaked!" she remarks, sounding cross as I approach both of them. "What were you doing out there?"

I'm standing next to her now as he lifts his eyes up to mine. In small gesture, I'm holding out the towel toward him, which he takes and rubs across his face.

"I'd like to know, too," I say softly.

Peeta glances at Prim who looks worried out of her mind and smiles a little bit. "I'm alright," he says. "I just. . ." Now he looks back at me and his face is somber. My stomach tightens because I know what he's going to say and I understand why he's saying it. "I just wanted to say goodnight. In case. . ."

Soaking wet or not, Prim throws her arms around him in a suddenly fierce hug. "Oh, Peeta! Please don't!" He is clearly astonished by her ferocity on the subject, but he slowly winds his arms around her back and returns the hug. I stand stiffly apart from them because my heart is beating quickly in my chest and this is the first time I'll admit I'm scared, too.

"I have a bad feeling," he says quietly, his eyes boring into mine.

"You can't talk that way," I tell him as Prim sniffles and pulls away. I don't want her to know about what we know concerning the Hunger Games—that even if the odds decide to be in our favor tomorrow, there's nothing that can stop it if they aren't.

"You know this is different," he replies, eyes looking lonely and scared. "Katniss? What if the Capitol knows about me?"

Prim looks confused. "What do you mean? The Capitol has records of every one of us." I place my hand on her shoulder and pull her toward me slightly.

"They'd want to get rid of you," I say, only because it's the truth he's seeking to hear me declare. If the Capitol knows about Peeta's hunting hobbies, then it's quite possible he will have been chosen to enter the Games this summer. As far as assumptions go, this is the only thing we've both been able to conclude this week about the tributes, though both of us have refused to acknowledge it.

"Exactly," he says sadly. "So that's why I couldn't. . .I had to see you both. Before tomorrow."

"Peeta," Prim says softly.

I don't know what to say, and I've never been very good with words. I told him so yesterday in gym class. I do the only thing I can and smile at him and hope that he understands. I'm not the kind of girl to go around giving hugs and comforting messages without uttering a syllable. I'm too calloused and bitter from my experiences to allow that.

But he does understand and he returns the smile weakly. "Good luck," he says softly.

"You have to promise you'll come see me after the reaping," Prim says with a slight shake in her voice. It's like we're already saying goodbye. "Right away."

His smile stretches a little farther when he looks at her. "I promise," he says.

She stares at him for a moment and then dives in for one more hug. Peeta's eyes lift to mine and I'm locked in his gaze, my head rushing with a disorienting sense of despair. What if he's right and I never see him again? I want to tell him how much I appreciate everything he's ever done but the words don't come.

"Bye, Prim," he whispers, tearing his eyes away from me as Prim pushes away from him.

"Bye, Peeta," she replies with watery eyes.

He makes eye contact with me one more time before he hands the towel back to me and leaves the shop. A gust of freezing wind flies in when he opens the door, and even when it closes behind him I feel the effects of ice slowly taking hold of everything inside me.

"Kat?" Father says, as he enters the storefront looking confused. "Was there a customer in here?"

"No," I say, still staring out the window at the rain, "it was just a boy from the Seam. He's gone now."

"Oh, alright. Why don't you girls go help your mother clean up the hearth?"

I do as he says without thinking and pull Prim along with me. Because if I allowed myself even a minute to think, I'm not sure I'd be able to stop the tears that are threatening to choke me now.

I don't sleep that night and neither does Prim. We are curled up together in my bed with the generations-old blankets tucked around us, but I still can't shake the coldness that had settled in me when Peeta had walked out the door. It had felt so final, like it was going to be the last time I'll see him. I don't know him well, it's true, but he is someone I feel inexplicably attached to; I feel he understands me. I'm not sure how it's possible, but it is and I don't want to lose that feeling.

Prim was crying at first—silently—the only indication being the slight shuddering of her back where it was pressed against my chest and stomach. My arms are around her now, holding her tight because I know she's terrified of morning light. I want so badly to protect her from the gathering in the square at two o'clock but I can't and it's killing me.

Our parents are as restless as we are because throughout the course of the night, after Prim's tears rolled to a stop, I've been hearing them whisper through the thin wall that separates my bedroom from theirs. Just murmurs that I can't decipher, words I'm afraid to understand. If my parents are in agony like I am, I don't need to know. It's hard enough watching Prim struggle.

The sun comes up later than usual because it's still raining, and the drops seem to be getting louder and harder with each passing hour. We don't have to open shop today, but the four of us in our family get out of bed and go through the motions of a morning routine to keep our minds from the grimness of today's reality.

After that's done, I have nothing to do and I'm too scared to be left alone with my thoughts, so Prim and I go up to my bedroom and pull my painting supplies out from under my bed. Most of my sheet canvases are covered in still life of bread or trees or the street outside the shop front. Looking at them now I feel that they are insufficient and unreal. It looks so perfect in the world that I've painted, and it's anything but.

Prim sits on my bed while I hang another clean sheet up on the wall and bring out the good paints, heart pounding because there is so much I'm feeling that I'm afraid it will break me into five or six unrecognizable pieces. I must express it in some way. She hands me my favorite thin-tipped brush and I dip it into the paint and swirl around the dark blue glop on my old paint plate.

"What are you gonna paint?" she asks quietly, subdued.

I stare at the sheet for a moment and see a flicker of blue, a flash of golden hair, and shadows that conceal it. "Something different," I say, and then place my brush on the canvas.

I work slowly, taking my time so that all my focus is on detail and I can't think of anything else. The lines of my picture come out vague and abstract unlike anything else I've painted yet, and Prim holds my shallow bowl of water so that I can change colors when I need to. My strokes are undefined and hazy and I pour all my apprehension and fear and confusion and despair into the picture until I feel nothing but a gentle numbness that allows me a sort of freedom.

It is only when I feel this way that I step back and admire my work as a whole, allowing myself to see what I've been so scared to look at this whole time.

Most of the painting is dark, but bright points of blonde and blue that are shaded into the darkness stick out. There is a subtle glow and shimmer to the picture, as if I've given it the illusion of being on fire, and a strong golden hand reaches toward me, blurry and misty.

Prim sets the bowl on a rickety bed stand and rises to her feet. She takes my paint smeared hand in hers, staring at the sheet. "It's scary, Katniss," she says.

"I kept seeing this, last night," I reply softly, noticing the splashes of red that look far too much like blood for my tastes. I've always been kind of squeamish about gore and guts.

My sister wraps her arms around me and holds me tight. "It'll be over soon," she says, as if I'm the one that needs comforting now. "You'll see. Tonight, you and I will be safe and sound in our beds. You can frost the cookies and I can eat them."

I don't hug her back because I don't want to smear paint all over her good reaping clothes so I step away from her and hold up my messy hands. "I'm going to wash off."

She smiles slightly. "Okay. Want me to put away your paints?"

I smile back. "Sure, Prim."

She turns and bends down to start collecting the small bottles of paint when her shirt comes un-tucked from the back of her skirt. My smile widens. "Tuck in your tail, little duck!" I exclaim as I leave the room. Prim's giggle follows me out.

I take my time in the bathroom, but it's inevitable when Mother calls Prim and I down for lunch. It's impossible to feel hungry, so I just choke down some stale cheese bread and a glass of water that shakes when I pick it up. Prim can't even manage to touch her food. Normally, our parents would scold us if we didn't finish dinner, saying that we are fortunate to have enough to eat, but today they don't say a word. They hold our hands and we sit in silence.

All too soon, it is time to leave. The walk to the square passes in a blur and then I'm being separated into my pen with the other sixteen year olds. Prim and I exchange one last hug with our parents and each other, tight and heartbreaking, before we are forced apart. My heart is in my throat when I see Peeta at the opposite end of my section and I make my way to him without thinking about it.

I say his name quietly as I come to stand next to him. He looks at me, startled, and then smiles, though it is shaky and unconvincing at best. His eyes have purple bruises under them, telling me that he has had a sleepless night too. Whatever feeling he's been getting about the reaping is taking it's toll on him. I wish there is a way to give him comfort.

"It'll be over soon," I whisper the same words Prim told me.

Without a word, he takes my hand in his, eyes asking if this is okay. In response, I squeeze it back and hold on tightly. Maybe if I hold on tight enough, nothing bad will happen to either one of us.

The reaping begins as usual soon after the kids are herded into their respective areas. Rain still falls from the sky in torrents, making everything and everyone damp. Effie Trinket's brilliant aqua hair is deflated and stuck to her forehead, her makeup running in streaks down her face. She looks upset, as if she knows how ridiculous she'll look on the reruns now because of the weather.

District 12's tribute mentor is sitting next to her with a flask in his hand, leaning heavily against the back of his chair. Haymitch Abernathy is never seen without some sort of container holding liquor. He may be our previous and only living victor, but he's disgraceful and disgusting and I can tell Effie is having the same thoughts because she glares at him when he says something to her.

Peeta's hand spasms when Mayor Undersee steps up to the microphone and begins to tell us the well-known history of Panem and the Dark Days and the Hunger Games. Madge sidles up to me, takes note of my hand in Peeta's, and then takes my hand without a word. I hold onto her tightly too, because she's been my friend for years and I can't bear the thought of her getting reaped. . .no, this year, the tributes will be _chosen_.

Once the mayor is done, Effie takes his place and squeals on in her funny Capitol accent about how excited she is to be here and what fun the Games will be this year. Her enthusiasm is met with the sound of pounding rain and stony silence.

"Yes, well," she clears her throat awkwardly. "Ladies first, hmm?"

I'm just registering that she's going to be announcing the name of the girl tribute when the words are already out of her mouth. "Vesna Drannel."

There is an immediate release in my chest. It's not me, or Prim, or Madge, but a snooty girl from my last period gym class. And then a pang of guilt and horror goes through me because I have known this girl since my first year at school, have been in classes with her, has held a conversation or two for school projects or a business transaction at the bakery. She has a mother and two brothers, one older and one younger. Her father died from a mouth infection last year. She has two best friends and words at the flower shop. I know this girl and in just a few short weeks, I'm going to have to watch her die.

Vesna is ushered from the sixteen year old section and onto the stage. She's crying, but the only indication is the tremble in her lip and the tears falling from her eyes. When Effie asks for volunteers there are no takers. Her fate is sealed then. Just two days ago, she'd been staring me down in gym for partnering with Peeta, and now she's being sent off to fight for her life.

Peeta! I have nearly forgotten that the storm hasn't blown over yet—figuratively and literally. He has a white-knuckled grip on my hand, though Madge and I exchange tight, relieved smiles. My heart pounds again and I close my eyes, waiting for Effie to announce the boy's name as she unfolds the paper.

My stomach drops, and I have to clamp my teeth down to keep from screaming.

"Peeta Mellark."

_And things are starting to get to the good part! I'm sorry if the first few chapters were boring; I just wanted to set up relationships and the swapped world before I threw a wrench into things. I hope you liked the chapter!_

_Review? It'd mean a lot to me!_

_Xoxo_

_Taylor_


	5. Chapter 5: Peeta

Hey! Thank you to all of my wonderful reviewers for the last chapter! I got more response than I thought I would! _SWPeetaxKatnissAvatarTLA_ (Don't worry! At least Peeta has Haymitch now, right?) _iam97_ (thank you so much for those kind words; I really don't deserve them), _Hungry Hungry Games (_I'm really glad that you're reading my fic as your first switched-roles and I hope it continues to meet your expectations!), _Serene Cullen_ (No fear! There will be plenty of PxK to come! You'll just have to trust me), _Chat1_ (Aww, Peeta is feeling the love right now), _alana banana_ (thankyouthankyouthankyou), _ceb37_ (sorry, haha. I love my cliffhangers; I'm glad you're enjoying the story!) _rosiekatira24_ (So sorry; I didn't mean to upset you!) _KurukiXV_ (Everyone hopes that Peeta won't get reaped; I think its just because he's so darn cute!) _maryclumsy_ (Well, you'll just have to stick around to find out, won't you?) _journey4eva_ (Originally they WERE both going to go in; but I decided to go in a different direction) _LynnO.o_ (I can't wait to answer all of your wonderful questions in the next few chapters! I'm so glad you like it!)

Anyways, I'm writing as fast as I can and if I had more ambition, I'd get ahead of myself so that I could post the chapters with some leeway so that I always have something written for you, but alas, I'm not that talented. Thank you to everyone who reviewed or alerted my story! I hope you like chapter 5!

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**Five: Peeta**

For a moment, nothing makes sense. I hear Effie Trinket say my name, feel Katniss' hand clench in a death grip around mine, see the lightning that streaks across the sky, but none of it feels real. I'm having an out of body experience, numb to the things around me and completely incapable of grasping the truth.

It hits me with a fierce, crippling force, when Effie Trinket repeats herself. "Peeta Mellark?" Her Capitol voice is rising in question and I'm no longer immune but hyper-aware that I've been chosen to be sent into the arena and that I will be dead before the end of the month.

Peacekeepers come for me and my heart pounds and I have a choking fear that completely swallows me. There are murmurs running through the crowd because of my identity. I know they must be worrying not about me, but how they will get fresh food now that only one Seam boy is going to be doing the hunting. I don't try to listen; the fear rushes in my ears and I taste it in my mouth. I'm terrified.

"Peeta!" I hear Katniss shout, though it's barely more than a whisper above the sound of the pouring rain.

I try to look at her, but when I turn my head, I find myself meeting eyes with Gale across the way and I haven't seen him look so crest-fallen since the day our fathers were pronounced dead. If I wasn't so scared, I'd make a face and tease him for being such a softy.

Effie grins down at me as the Peacekeepers usher me to the stage. I climb the steps stiffly, noticing Vesna for the first time. She's looking at me with wide eyes that must mirror my own horror and I no longer feel whatever contempt I've held at her for the things she's said about Katniss in the past.

Effie seems rather pleased with herself, and perks up noticeably—quite the feat, since she looks like a drowned kitten—as she steps back up to the microphone. I think she asks if there are any volunteers for me, but she is met with the lonely sound of a violent rainfall. It doesn't faze her.

"Congratulations to Vesna Drannels and Peeta Mellark, our District Twelve tributes for the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games!" She begins to clap enthusiastically but stops when she realizes that no one else is going to join her.

I barely grasp what's happening because my eyes are roaming the crowd for Katniss, but the rain is coming down in sheets so thick that I can barely see ten feet off the stage. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to keep calm the way I might do on a hunt. If I suppress the reality, maybe it won't be so hard to come to terms with and I can accept that I never got the chance to tell Katniss the truth.

"Usually," Effie says in chipper voice, gesturing to me and Vesna, "this is where the ceremony would end, but the Capitol has decided to put a new rule of the Hunger Games into effect as of immediately." She sounds so giddy about the prospect and it makes me feel sick. What will happen to me? The Witch? The Seam? I'm so afraid that it hurts to even think about it, and I have to push away thoughts of Katniss because that will only make it worse.

What is the Capitol going to do to me now? Make it so that we won't have weapons? Throw twenty four of us into an arena the size of a school building? I can't imagine what new rule would be put into place that hasn't already been dreamed up in the Gamemaker's headquarters.

"Well, I suppose I'll get on with it, since you all are _dying_ to know!" Effie means to be harmless, I think, but at the mention of us dying to know anything, we all tense and scowl. My breaths are surprisingly steady and I can't wait to be escorted into the Justice Building to get away from all these eyes and the cameras that watch me. I don't know how to have any hope right now.

Effie clears her throat awkwardly. "Yes. Well. This year, the Gamemakers have decided to allow each tribute from all twelve Districts to have one person of their choice accompany them to the Capitol. Like front row seats, if you will," she says, and the excitement escapes again. My stomach clenches and I know the rest of 12 feels as disgusted as I am. Now they're going to make us bring someone to watch us die?

"The tributes will get to choose during their hour saying goodbye to loved ones and then the Peacemakers will escort that person onto the trains."

I just want to get off the stage. Ever word out of Effie's mouth sounds like gibberish to me and I can't comprehend it when I'm trying to think my way out of this. But there is no solution to this predicament and the facts are simple. I will leave the only home I've ever known. I will be pampered and primped like a house dog by the Capitol. Then I will be sentenced to die.

The ceremony ends quickly after that and it all passes in a blur. I'm trying to organize my thoughts in order to keep the fear at bay. I have to tell Gale to remember the mayor's house for strawberries and that the Everdeens always take squirrels, no matter what the circumstance. I could care less about whatever the Witch thinks. She'll probably be relieved when she hears I'm dead, you know, if she's ever sober again.

The only thing I'm truly hoping is that Katniss comes to say goodbye to me. Her and Prim. She deserves to know that I love her and that I always would. My heartbeats are numbered now, but at least I can tell her that each of them belongs to her.

I know I won't be bringing anyone to the Capitol with me, as the rules now state I can, because I can't bare the thought of making anyone go through that ordeal with me. Being in a strange world, where they are waiting and thirsting for my bloody death. . .it's not something anyone deserves to share in. It's already bad enough that Vesna is going along for the ride. I wonder who she'll choose.

When I think of Vesna, sitting alone in the Justice Building room, waiting for a—if any—visitor, I'm suddenly wondering what she's done wrong. I get the feeling the Capitol knows of my poaching and that's why I've been chosen. But why Vesna? Besides being vapid and blank-minded, there's not a single thing wrong with her. She's never done anything wrong, not like I have.

I'm still lost in thought, trying to evade the fear I can feel creeping up on me, when Gale pushes into the room, escorted by Peacekeepers. They tell me that I have ten minutes and then times up. I nod and thank them quietly as they leave the room.

Gale just stares at me. "Did you seriously just thank them?"

I shrug and slump tiredly in the plushy chair. It's velvet, like the old loveseat the Witch is probably wasted on right now. "They didn't draw my name," I say.

"So you're holding a personal grudge against Effie Trinket now?" he replies, coming to sit next to me. He's stiff and impersonal, but I know he's trying to figure things out right now, and I'm going to let him. "You have my total support."

I sigh. "Thanks."

There's a moment of silence before his voice is lower and more urgent. "You know you can win this, Mellark," he says. "You've been hunting all your life. This will be no different."

I should agree with him because to him, it's true. But that's just not the way I see it. "I can't kill people. I'm not cut out for it. They have mothers and fathers and siblings and girlfriends and boyfriends and. . .and I can't be the one to take those things away."

"The Capitol already has," Gale murmurs heatedly, "you know that as well as I do."

My hands find my face and I rub it because I'm afraid that if I don't start distracting myself I'll cry. I'd rather starve to death than cry in front of Gale. "I'm. . .I'm really scared, Gale."

"Me too, Peeta," he says, and his voice is sincere. We allow that to hang in the air for a moment before I'm telling him things to remember, to keep myself focused on not crying, on helping those that I care about before he's sent away.

"The Undersees pay a hefty price for strawberries because Madge loves them so much," I tell him, "and the Everdeens will eat and pay for as many squirrels as you can possibly manage to give them."

He nods. "I know, Mellark. What do you want me to do about the old hag?"

My expression hardens. "Let her starve. Give her scraps. I don't care."

The Peacekeepers enter the room then, telling me that my time is up with Gale. We exchange one last look and he holds out his hand to me. I stare at it for a moment before shaking his hand and then before we know what we are doing, we are hugging so fiercely that I can barely breathe. Gale is like my brother; I've known him since the day I was born. Knowing I will never see him again is completely agonizing and when the Peacekeepers force him out of the room I feel like a part of me is gone.

I wait in the stillness of the room, my face buried in my hands. I just want to get this over with. There is no hope for me, so why stay here any longer? The sooner I die, the sooner I will feel release from this stress and fear. Nothing would be greater.

I'm wrong, of course, because when the door opens again, a streak of blonde hair and blue eyes hurls toward where I sit in the chair and then skinny arms are around my neck and tears are staining my shirt.

"Peeta!" Prim cries, holding on tightly. "It wasn't supposed to be you!"

Katniss is right behind her and when I look up, I really see for the first time what she's wearing—a pretty blue dress with ruffled sleeves and a chiffon skirt. There's a smear of pain at the inside of her elbow and when I meet her eyes, I'm taken aback by how shiny they are, how when she blinks at me, a single drop of water begins to roll down her cheek.

My heart immediately does a double check and I wonder if Prim can feel how fast it's pounding or if she's too preoccupied to notice. I hug the girl back as hard as I can without hurting her.

"I'll be okay, Prim," I say softly in her ear. Tears of my own have threatened to fall. I won't let it happen. I can't.

"You promise?" she asks tearfully, pulling away and scanning my face with her large blue eyes. She's so innocent and beautiful, but I don't know if I can promise her something so impossible. And then I realize, looking at her, feeling myself respond to Katniss' mere presence, I will do whatever it takes to make it back to them. I won't be fighting for the Witch or the people of the Seam who see me as a resource. I will be fighting for Gale and Katniss and Prim. Because I love them, and I refuse to let this be the last time I see them.

"I promise," I reply in barely more than a whisper. She presses her head against my chest again and Katniss sits next to me. I reach for her hand and she takes it into hers without any hesitation at all. I look at her, and though there are still traces of tears on her face, she looks brilliantly determined and pained.

"Peeta," she says, squeezing my hand as she holds it in both of hers. "You mean it, right?"

I hold onto Prim tightly with one arm and Katniss with the other hand, nodding. "Of course, Katniss. Of course I do."

"Who. . .who are you taking with you?" she asks, and then another tear falls from her eyes. She doesn't wipe them away, doesn't pay them any mind. Her voice is strong and it's as if she doesn't even realize that she's crying.

"I'm not taking anyone," I say, trying to keep my voice from cracking, watching her face as she watches mine. God, I love her. I can't even believe how much I love her, in this moment right now. "I don't want them to be subjective to the Capitol like me. I just can't watch that happen."

"You'll be all alone," she says, obviously distraught with the idea. Her voice breaks.

"I won't be alone; I'll have Effie and Haymitch and Vesna." I pause to collect myself. "It'll be. . .fun."

She laughs, despite herself and I can even feel Prim giggling against me. "Yes," Katniss says, "sounds like fun. A Capitol drone, a drunk man, and a priss. Good luck with that, Peeta."

I shake my head because the humor has passed. It's not easy to stay happy in this situation. "I'll be fine."

Her eyes bore into me as if she knows I'm only moments from breaking down and weeping like Prim. It's unsettling how she can seem to read me so clearly, and yet she's never been able to see through my heart. I stare at Prim's blonde hair and try very hard not to think.

"I won't be," Katniss says, so softly at first that I'm not sure I hear her right. But when I look up to meet her eyes, I know she said those words and I'm glad she isn't taking them back.

"Peeta," Prim murmurs in a small voice as she settles her forehead against my neck and grips my shirt tightly. "You know how much I like you, right? I've always liked you, even though Katniss wouldn't let me talk to you."

"I've always liked you too, Prim," I say as I give her a squeeze, amused and a little hurt by the idea that Katniss wouldn't let her little sister come and talk to me. "I've just been too chicken to admit it."

"You have?" she sounds a little happier, though not by much. "And Katniss? You've always liked Katniss, too, right?"

I nod, unable to meet Katniss' eyes. "Yeah. I've always like Katniss." That is such an understatement and has been. Far longer than either one of them will ever know.

There is a stretch of silence when I just hold onto the two Everdeen girls and pray that they will be alright while I'm gone, that someone, somewhere will watch them and guide their parents to keeping them safe. All too soon, the Peacekeepers come and tell us that our time is up.

I stand, giving Prim one last squeeze. "I'll see you around, kid."

She smiles through her tears up at me. "I'm rooting for you, Peeta."

Prim lets me go for the first time since entering the room and then I'm left holding onto Katniss' hand. I realize that it will be now or never, declare my love and then watch her go. . .but how can I do that to her? As much as she deserves to know my feelings, wouldn't it be cruel to tell her now? What if she has to watch me die and the only thing she feels for the rest of her life is a sort of guilt that she shouldn't have to carry? I can't do that to her.

I'll just have to make it home and tell her myself.

"You really should take someone with you," Katniss murmurs, watching me intensely. She looks clever and ingenious and it's kind of scaring me because I don't know what she's thinking. "I can't stand the thought of you being alone with all those people."

She doesn't have to elaborate. I know all too well that "all those people" are the ones that will be cheering on my murderer.

"I've been taking care of myself for years," I assure her, hoping to put her at ease. "I'll be fine, Katniss."

She shakes her head. "I don't believe you."

"I said, time's up," one of the Peacekeepers says gruffly.

I'm about to tell him to just give me a minute, when Katniss is suddenly throwing her arms around my neck and pulling me in close as if being apart any further would kill us both. Her mouth is at my ear and I can feel how warm her breath is as she whispers to me.

"You're not going alone," she breathes, her voice sounding tight and torn.

I only have time to squeeze her back before the Peacekeepers are pulling us apart and herding her and Prim out the doors. The last thing I see before they are closed are both of the Everdeen girls looking back at me over their shoulders with tears in their eyes.

There is still half an hour of time before I'm slated to be sent to the train and I don't know what I'm going to do with myself. Already I can feel my eyes watering, my hands shaking, as I pace the room and try to release my fear and restless energy in the only way I know how.

I'm so sure that I will have no other visitors that I freeze and feel my heart rate speed up as the doors open again. There is the pointless hope that when I turn around, Katniss will be there and I'm ready to declare my love when I see that it's the Witch.

She's leaning heavily on a wooden stick with a flask tucked into the top of her blouse. Her face is so wasted from abuse over the five very short years since my father's death, but nothing can hide the scowl that is there. I don't know whether to be shocked or furious, but I settle on a wariness that makes me back away as far as I possibly can.

"What are you doing here?" I spit vehemently, hands clenching into tight fists.

She hobbles in and the doors close behind her. "Can't see my son before he dies?" Her voice is throaty and unpleasant; rocks against a school chalkboard.

"Didn't even know you were lucid enough to get the news," I say angrily. I want to know what gives her the right to come to me after all the years of attempted abuse and neglect but I restrain myself. If there's one thing I'm relieved to be free from, it's the chains of obligation that bind me to her. "So? Go on, spit it out."

She narrows her eyes as she lowers herself down into a chair. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Just tell me what you came here to tell me and leave," I hiss and cross my arms over my chest. With everything that's gone on today, this is the last thing I need.

The Witch stares at me for a moment and then stares down at the ground, reaching for the flask hidden in her shirt. "I shouldn't have made you face this alone. I'm your mother I should have—."

"You. Are. Not," I say furiously.

"Excuse me?" She looks outraged. Can't imagine why. She should have known.

"You lost that privilege a long time ago." I feel myself starting to lose my grip on the mask I've been able to control so far. "But you are right. I never should have been here alone. And I wasn't." I had Katniss. The memory of her hand holding mine during the calling of the names seared into my mind and I could almost feel the heat of her palm as if she was still there, still holding on.

The Witch looks pained as she takes a swig of her flask. "You always were a stupid boy," she drawls on, tipping the tin back again. "You won't last. . .five minutes in the arena!"

I'm shaking now, but I can't tell if it's from rage or fear. "Get out. Now." I take a large step toward her and point to the door.

"You're going to die!" She laughs a little and then chokes on herself before laughing again. This is when I know that whatever illness has been embedding itself into her has taken control of her mind. The laughter. It doesn't make me feel any less sorry that she's a pathetic excuse for a human being. "You're going to die and I'm going to die and the whole world is going to die!"

Her voice has risen to an ugly shout, and even though she made only an unconscious illusion to any slander against the Capitol, the Peacekeepers burst through the doors and heave her to her feet, dragging her out of the room.

"You're dead!" she screams at me as I watch her being taken away. "You're dead and I won't miss you! You stupid, lazy, selfish boy!"

The doors slam shut then and I collapse on the velvet chair. If I wasn't so drained from trying to hold myself together, I don't know what other reaction I might have had. I only know that I'm glad I will never see the Witch again and when I reach up to wipe my face, my fingers come away dampened by salt water.

My hour doesn't last much longer and I'm grateful for it. I just want to get this over with. The Peacekeepers escort me out the back of the Justice Building toward the train station. Cameras swarm around us and they have to be pushed back by additional Peacekeepers just to keep us moving steadily toward the waiting train.

Vesna is being escorted to my right and when I look over at her, I see that her face is red and puffy. The tears have been all cried out of her. We exchange a tight nod but say nothing else. What can I say? I've promised Prim and Katniss that I will come back to them and I won't break that promise.

Finally, we reach the train and I'm lead all the way into the lead compartment before the Peacekeepers turn and push the cameras back out. The doors slide shut and click with a resounding ring. Vesna and I look at each other, and though I've never liked her, I can't say the same thing in this moment.

"Who did you choose?" she asks drearily.

"No one," I say, not wanting to explain why. "You?"

"My older brother, Cyress." Her face brightens a little bit at the prospect and I'm glad for her.

Just then, Effie enters from the room behind us and smiles. "There you two are! Dinner will be ready in an hour! It's in the very end compartment; don't be late! Your rooms are down that way." She points down the hallway. Vesna and I thank her over graciously and roll our eyes as she prances away.

"How much do you think she hates her job?" Vesna asks.

"Not enough," I reply, hearing the truth in my own words. We walk down the hall to where are compartments are and don't say another word as we go our separate ways. I'm feeling numb as I enter the clean cut room, full of lavish expensive things one can only expect of the Capitol. I spend the hour before dinner sitting on the bed, staring at the floor, wondering how I'm going to accomplish this.

Effie's knocking on my door now. "Dinner!" she sings.

I take a moment before getting up and answering it. She grins at me as the door swings open. "Oh good, you heard me. Scoot along to dinner; I've just got to get the other one. Your companion is already at the table."

I feel confused immediately and it overrides everything else. "What?"

She smiles wider. "Your companion? She's waiting for you at the table."

I probably stare at her a moment too long, but then I'm running down the hall because my heart is pounding and I don't know what to think. I'm afraid to hope and at the same time I'm praying that she hasn't been so stupid, that she's kept her distance from me enough to prepare for my death, which will mostly be inevitable.

I burst through the last doorway and into the dining area, where a table is set up with all sorts of shiny silver plates and bright food choices. Haymitch Abernathy sits in one of the plush chairs, and Vesna's brother Cyress sits to his right.

Though I do notice these people, it's Katniss that I see first.

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_Sorry for the cliffy! I couldn't resist! Explanations for how this has come together will follow in the next chapter!_

_Thank you again to all my wonderful reviewers! So many already! I hope that you'll stick around and tell me what you thought of this chapter; I truly truly truly do love hearing from all of you._

_xoxo_

_Taylor_


	6. Chapter 6: Katniss

Oh my gosh. Another chapter? I didn't know I could write so fast; I must be really enthusiastic about this story! I have all of you, my lovely readers, to thank for that. Your comments always say the right things and give me the slightest push in the right direction.

I don't have the time to thank you guys individually like I was planning on doing because I'm so busy trying to write for you and doing a whole bunch of other stuff, but please understand that I love and appreciate every single one of your words so much! I don't deserve them! This is already my most successful HG fic and it's all because of you!

I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter and any suggestions for the future. I love hearing from you guys! I'll be updating once a week probably from here on out, but I'm going to try and get ahead so I can give you a bonus chapter every once in a while (: Anyways, here is chapter six, and I hope you enjoy it!

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**Six: Katniss**

He's staring at me like I've just grown two heads and screamed the words "THE CAPITOL IS DEAD!" and though maybe I should be ashamed of myself for not telling him, I'm enjoying the look on his face more than I should. I smile at him and pick up one of the several spoons laid out next to my plate, preparing to slurp down the soup.

"Hi, Peeta," I say in a completely normal voice. His eyes bug wider and I don't think the situation could possibly get any weirder for him. Heat sparks in his eyes and I know that he's angry. I brace myself even though I can't see him doing anything more than asking what I'm doing here.

"Peeta?" The old drunk man, Haymitch, mutters. "Like as in bread? 'Peeta' bread?"

Cyress Drannels looks at him in disgust. "You've got to be kidding me. You're the one who's going to be mentoring my sister? God help us."

"Katniss," Peeta says, reclaiming my attention. I snap my head to him and find that he's furious. "What on earth are you doing here?"

I'm right; he does ask.

I stand up as he stalks towards me so that I can meet him on even playing ground. "I told you that you weren't going alone; there was no way that I was going to allow that."

Effie enters the room with Vesna in tow, both of them staring at the scene as Cyress starts yelling at Haymitch, who appears to be dozing off, and Peeta as he grips my arms and gives me a shake.

"Why would you do this?" he yells at me, his hands hot and tight against my arms. It doesn't hurt, but I don't like the way he's handling me. "Why would you risk yourself for me? I'm not worth it!"

I scowl at him and shrug away from his hold, because in all honesty, this is harder than I'm making it appear. Telling my parents where I am going, leaving Prim behind even though she practically forced me onto the train herself. . .I've given up everything I've ever known on the whim that Peeta needs me here with him.

"Don't say that," I snap. He doesn't understand what he's talking about, why I have to be here. I barely understand it myself but I do know that this is how it's meant to be. Peeta needs me, even if he doesn't want to admit it, even if there's a part of him that wishes he'd never talked to me in the first place. I know that there will repercussions of this choice but maybe they'll all be worth it if it means Peeta won't be alone.

He's still glaring at me, but there's hopelessness in his eyes and I know that there is so much more he wants to say. There is no place for his words on this train though, because whatever it is that sits on his tongue can potentially get him a target on his back in the Games. I'm glad he stops it at that.

"It's true, Katniss," he says, pulling away from me, avoiding my eyes. "You are the very last person who should be on this train."

I won't let him know how much those words hurt. Instead, I ignore him altogether and resume my seat at the table. Perhaps I should feel ashamed for forcing myself onto him by being his companion, but there is no regret. Clearly, he doesn't want me here, and for whatever reason he has for that, I'm not going to pry.

Haymitch guffaws at something that Cyress spits on him and then hauls himself to his feet and stumbles off the down the hall. I watch the drunken man go and tell myself that I will have a word with him. If Peeta's life is going to be in his hands, I'm going to make sure that he's sober for the Games, no matter how much I'm going to have to go through to get that message across.

Cyress looks at Vesna and then Peeta, his expression still furious. "Well, you're both going to die in the arena. Have fun with that." He stalks off down the hall to where his quarters must be and Vesna looks after him longingly.

"I should go after him," she says.

"Nonsense!" Effie chirps. "You wouldn't want all this good, good, good food to go to waste would you?"

When Vesna looks back at the table, it's clear that the sight of so many goodies makes her ravenous. She takes a cautious seat and Effie applauds her before announcing that she must go check on our upcoming schedules and that she'll see us all in a little while for the showing of the reaping.

I look up at Peeta. "You should eat."

He glances at the food and then shakes his head. "I'm not hungry."

I figure as much but I won't accept it. "I don't care. Sit down and eat your soup."

Vesna nods, though her eyes narrow at me. I wonder how this will all go over because I know how much she hates me and how much she wants Peeta. "You should listen to her."

I scowl. "Thank you, Vesna, but I believe I can handle him."

She rolls her eyes and picks up a fork as Peeta slides into the chair next to me. "You shouldn't even be here. He doesn't _want_ you."

That's the second time someone has told me that I don't appreciate it. My hands are itching to grip the handle of the knife near my plate and hurl it at her head. I know I will hit the mark because I've always been handy with knives in the kitchen.

Peeta must read my mind because he shakes his head at me as if to tell me she's not worth the time. I know he's right, but it doesn't lessen my anger. Grudgingly, I pick up my spoon and start to eat.

None of us talk and I think it's because we have our own reasons. I don't know what keeps Vesna and Peeta so silent, but I'm sure it has to do with the way they are preparing themselves to be overwhelmed, to be faced with the impossible task of surviving in an arena full of other kids who will want them dead.

I know I don't have to worry about going into the arena, but I do have to worry about my choices. It has been brash, chasing after a boy I barely know all because of that crazy impulse that attaches me to him. I don't regret deciding to come with him, no matter how painful it is to be away from my family. As far as family goes, his friend Gale is the closest person to him and I know he wouldn't have been able to drop his obligations to the Seam and the townies whom depend on the haul of fresh meat he can bring in.

It has to be me, which is why I'm here. I'm not going to lie to myself, I'm terrified. Mostly for Peeta, but also for me. I don't know what to expect when I get to the Capitol as this has never happened before, and I know it's so dangerous to be his companion. Clearly, there has to be some sort of affection or friendship between a tribute and their companion, and it's a mystery why the Capitol has decided to allow this.

When I'm so stuffed full of Capitol food that I feel sick, I push my plate away and a silent server takes the dish from me. I turn to Peeta, who is solemnly picking at his food.

"Eat," I demand, trying to be gentle. "You're going to need all the bulk you can get before. . ." He knows.

He glances at me and his eyes are sad. "I'm just not hungry, Katniss." Is he sad because of what he fears is coming in his future or is it because I've forced myself onto the train as his companion? No matter what, there is still no shame in being here. I wonder if he'll always hate that I've done this, but as soon as I'd arrived home after seeing him the last time at the Justice Building with Prim, my parents saw my face and took me in their arms. They knew.

"I'm so sorry, Katniss," my mother said, holding me close to her. My tears were staining her good reaping clothes, but she didn't care. I clung to her as Prim and my father joined in the embrace. "That boy means a lot to you, doesn't he?"

I nodded against her neck and tried to take deep breaths, to keep the sobs from making their appearance. Prim's arms were a vice around my waist and I knew she was feeling the pain too.

"He's not even taking anyone with him," I murmured despairingly. "He's going to be all alone."

Prim sniffled and my father kissed my ear. "And what do you think about that, Kat?" he whispered to me.

"I can't stand it," I replied.

Mother stepped away from me and wiped the tears away from my cheeks, while Father took me into his arms fully and let my head rest against his shoulder. "Are you going to do anything about it?" Her voice was pained and torn, but she knew, as well as I did, how hard this was going to be for me. How much I wanted to be there with him. She didn't even know how much I cared about a Seam boy until today, when I'd cried out at the reaping.

"I don't want to hurt you," I breathed and then shuddered as my tears began to dry because I realized what they were offering.

Father pulled back and forced me to look up at him. "The only way we'd be hurt is if you were hurt. We know what it's like, my little mockingjay. Make the choice that makes you happy."

I truly couldn't believe it, but I understand why they let me decide. Their parents had been fully against their relationship and the whole of District 12 had looked down their noses at them, for betraying their own section of society. And yet, they didn't care. They were together and that was all that mattered to them.

I don't know what they saw on my face when I walked in the door with Prim, but it must have been enough to confirm the importance of Peeta Mellark in my life.

Prim grabbed my hand and I looked down at her. "You have to go, Katniss," she said as her voice trembled. "You can't let Peeta be alone."

I hugged her tightly. "I'm scared of leaving." Even as I said the words, I knew that they wouldn't change anything. I thought my mind had been made up since he told me he was going alone. This extra support had just given me the push I needed to make my feet pound against the soot and dirt to the train station and declare myself Peeta's tribute companion.

Mother smiled at me and took both Prim and I into her arms. "You don't have to go, baby. It's just that I'm seeing that look on your face and I know what you want to do. Do what you think is best, okay?"

There was really no decision to make, as terrified as I was at the prospect of going to the Capitol. "I suppose I should hurry, then."

Father wrapped his arms around us again and when we all disentangled ourselves, he unpinned the golden mockingjay on his reaping clothes and pressed it into my palm. I started to protest, but he only kissed my forehead.

"Take it, so that whenever you miss us, you will always have a piece of home."

I curled my fingers around it and shoved it into my pocket. I gave him and Mother a kiss on the cheek and then I was hugging Prim fiercely and telling them how much I loved them and how I'd be back soon.

Prim blinked through her tears at me as pulled away. "I'm glad you're going with him, Katniss," she said.

"Me too, Prim," I replied. I kissed her on the forehead. "Tell Madge for me."

She nodded and then I was out the door, fearing that if I spent too much time, I'd be late for the train and miss it for nothing. My heart pounded all the way there and I didn't feel truly relieved until I was in my assigned compartment on the train, awaiting instructions from Effie Trinket about dinner.

Vesna burps loudly and leans back in her chair as she finishes off a cup of something that looks bubbly and warm. A satisfied smile spreads across her reddish face, which I suppose is still trying to recover from her crying spree.

"If the food in the Capitol is this good, perhaps they aren't so bad," she says.

Aren't so bad? They watch a game in which kids are forced to kill each other every year and she thinks they aren't so bad? She's so stupid it makes me feel sorry for her. "Yes," I say, "I agree; Capitol folks most certainly aren't that bad."

She shoots me a look because I'm not hiding my sarcasm but Peeta sighs before she can say anything. "Vesna, maybe you should go look for your brother? Bring him something to eat? I'm sure he's hungry."

She smiles at Peeta too widely and I find myself disliking her even more. I've never liked her, after all the mean, malicious rumors she's spread about me throughout the youth of District 12. She's part of the reason that I'm so universally whispered about and hated in our district. But I'd have been able to feel sorry for the fact that she will be dead within the month if it isn't for the fact that she's clearly still got her beady eyes on Peeta.

"What a smashing idea," she replies. "You're so smart, Peeta. I bet you'll be the one to win the Games." She rises up slowly and takes a large roll stuffed with meat and cheese down the hall to her brother's compartment.

I shake my head after her. "You've got to admire her persistence," I say, though its more of an attempt to get Peeta to smile than to state the actual truth. I don't admire anything about that girl.

I'm happy to see that it works, though. "I suppose. When do you think she'll figure out that I just wanted to get her out of the room?"

I crack a smile now too. "Probably around the same time Haymitch declares abstinence," I say seriously.

We both laugh at that and then Peeta is reaching for my hand and he's looking at me with his wide blue eyes, as if they are trying to tell me something that I can't fully grasp.

"I really do wish you hadn't done this, Katniss," he says as he squeezes my hand in both of his.

My smile quickly fades. "You couldn't have asked me to watch you face this alone. You're my friend, Peeta."

He releases my hand and then flicks his eyes up at the crystal light fixture hanging from the ceiling. Actually, knowing the Capitol, I won't be surprised if Effie informs us that it's made out of diamonds. "Still. I can't stand the thought of being in the Capitol," he mutters, then adds after a moments pause, "you know, since we've only ever grown up in Twelve." But I know he's not talking about just himself, and I also know that the last part is meant for the ears of Capitol people. To appease them.

He's talking about me, and whatever else it is that I've given myself up for. He's telling me that he doesn't want me in the Capitol and I want to ask him why he thinks it's so horrible, but I know we can't do that here. I know that every word out of our mouth is being monitored just as he does.

"I thought about it," I tell him softly, staring at the dishes in front of me, all the neon oranges and striking pinks and I can't look at him. "I thought about trying not to feel, to make it easier. But I knew that I couldn't accept it." My voice is barely a whisper because I don't know where these words are coming from. They sound real, and I'm suddenly more terrified of that than the actual fact that I'm speeding several hundred miles per hour toward the Capitol.

He glances at me, his eyes wide because I'm sure he's heard how I'm not lying. "I. . .I really matter that much?" He seems mystified and partially giddy because he's smiling widely now and it's contagious.

I feel my cheeks blushing and I still can't look at him. "I guess so."

I know with my words that I've ended whatever doubts he's had about me being here. He's clearly still concerned for whatever reason, but he's done voicing it because what's done is done and now that I've been so open and honest he knows that it wouldn't have happened any other way.

We sit there without saying anything else until Effie reappears. She looks distraught at the sight of only two, but soon she's grinning just like any regular time. "It's time for the recap of the reapings!" she exclaims, ushering us out of the room. "Let's go!"

Peeta guides me out of the room with a hand on my back, lightly touching and I let him. Effie shows us to a large room with large, overstuffed furniture and when I sit on the count, I nearly disappear inside the cushions. I'd laugh if it wasn't so scary, this world that we were about to enter.

Peeta sits next to me, which helps to level the cushion out, laughing at the look on my face. Whatever it may be. It's good to hear him laughing because I'm not sure how much longer that will last. I take his hand to comfort the both of us as Effie turns the TV screen on and then begins running around the train, squealing that attendance is mandatory.

"It's part of the schedule!" she cries from somewhere down the hall. I can imagine her frantically pounding at doors and insisting that they appear.

"It's no wonder she's desperate for a new district," Peeta says to me as Capitol commercials flick over the screen. "No one takes her seriously."

I raise my eyebrow at her and examine his face as he watches the TV. "Are you actually feeling sorry for her?" Effie seems harmless, but she's a part of the Capitol. As long as that is true, she will be one of the bad guys in my mind.

He shrugs at my incredulous expression and smiles. "I think so. I don't know. Things are kind of hard for me to figure out right now." I blush, though I don't know why.

Haymitch never makes an appearance for the showing, but Vesna and Cyress are coming in just as the segment starts. I stiffen when she sits unbearably close to Peeta's other side, but he squeezes my hand. Cyress seems oblivious and still peeved as he glares at the screen. I fleetingly wonder how or why Vesna decided to bring him along.

Effie asks if we want anything to drink but no one responds to her and I almost get what Peeta means about no one taking her seriously. I remember the reaping earlier that day and how awkward it had been for her. But I don't feel sorry because she's the one that called Peeta's name.

The reapings are as heart-wrenching as ours. Families from the lesser districts cry while those from the higher districts cheer and celebrate. A large boy from 2 eventually is declared the official tribute after a mess of volunteering, and takes his place next to a devious looking girl. A clever-looking girl with red hair is chosen from 5 while two beautiful teenagers are reaped for District 1. The worse part of the entire replay is District 11, when a sweet little girl is chosen. Her resemblance to Prim is so striking and so troubling, especially standing next to the mountain of a boy tribute from her district.

When they are over, Cyress storms off, yelling about how useless it was to have spent his time sitting in front of the TV screen. I suddenly understand why Vesna is so irritating, and feel that intuition grow as she scoots closer to Peeta and lays her head on his shoulder. My anger is immediate and irrational.

"I'm so scared, Peeta," she says as if I'm not sitting to his right and gripping his hand. "I don't want to die."

His eyes flicker at me before he awkwardly curls his arm around to pat her head. "I know. I don't want to die either, Vesna."

"I meant what I said earlier," she tells him. "You're very smart, even though you're from the nasty Seam. I always thought people there were stupid, but you're different. It's probably because you don't look like them. Anyways. I think you'll win."

Yes, Vesna. Peeta is only smart because he looks like he's from town. Her stupidity knows no bounds and I'm particularly irked by this comment because it looks like I'm from the Seam. It's only the fact that Peeta sits between us that keeps me from lunging at her.

"I wouldn't be so sure," he replies.

I roll my eyes at this but he doesn't see. He's a brilliant hunter, and he is smart. If he can't manage to make it out of the arena with those things going for him, I might kill him myself.

Vesna winds an arm around his waist and it's more than I can stand. I yank my hand away from Peeta's and jump to my feet. Maybe it's not her bothering me as much as it is that he's letting her cling to him. I won't sit here anymore and listen to her babble, and I certainly won't just watch while he allows her to suck him into her trap.

"I'm tired," I spit at them, though I don't feel it; I've been asleep for over an entire day and I still can't turn off my mind, though my body is starting to feel the effects of fatigue. "I'm going to bed."

I don't wait to hear a response for them and stomp off down the hall. I pass several other rooms. In one of them, Haymitch is muttering to himself and in another, Cyress is cursing and stomping around. I think it might be selfish to indulge in so much of his own feelings and not spend time with his sister—who's days are numbered—but then I realize I'm doing the same thing with Peeta. I'm not sure how to feel about that.

I close the door to my room loudly and strip out of my mother's dress, the blue one she let me wear for the reaping, and then take out the elaborate braid in my hair. There is only one type of outfit to choose from in the drawers, so I don a pair of black pants and a green shirt. I leave my hair loose.

When this is done, I grab the mockingjay pin from out of my dress pocket and hold it to my mouth, desperately trying to hold onto my family. I knew this would be hard, and I've already accepted the consequences I may have to take because of my choices. It would be easier to deal with if Peeta wasn't letting Vesna run her slimy little hands all over him.

All at once, there's a knock on my door, and I drop my pin in shock when I hear Peeta's voice. "Katniss?"

I scowl to myself, but pick up the pin, place it securely in my pocket and then make my way to the door to rip it open. He's leaning against the doorframe, his forearm propped up on it, the rest of his body dipping toward the door.

"Where's your girlfriend?" I snap. I know I'm being harsh, but I take joy in the fact he grimaces.

"Vesna isn't my girlfriend, Katniss, you of all people should know that," he replies, lifting his pretty blue eyes to me. They seem caught off guard when he looks at me but I ignore it.

"You sure looked cozy to me," I say bitterly, crossing my arms over my chest.

He sighs and looks over my shoulder into my room before looking back at me. "Can I come in?"

I stare him down for a moment before stepping back and letting him enter. He brushes past and goes to sit on the edge of my bed. His eyes wander toward the crumpled heap of my dress before he looks back at me. "You took your hair out," he says.

I close the door and lean against it. "What do you want, Peeta? We should be going to bed." It's true, but mostly I just want to be alone right now. I'm still a little jealous of how close he let Vesna got to him on the couch when I feel like I can't even do that.

He pats the space next to him and looks at me hopefully, I sigh deeply as I cave and go to sit next to him. "I just wanted to be with you," he tells me softly. "Just for a little while."

I don't know what to say to that because he's got me so confused. First he's telling me that he can't stand having me with him on the train and now he's saying that he wants to be alone with me? I wish he would stop being so frustrating, but I do allow myself to feel the leap in my chest at this confession, which is so tender and sincere.

We are quiet for a moment, and the reality of his situation begins to dawn on me in an even more awful light than before and I can't help it when I angle my body toward his and take a deep breath. "I believe you can do this," I tell him.

He looks at me, eyes searching my face before glancing away. "Do what?"

"Win," I murmur, tucking a curtain of hair back behind my ear.

His expression drops and his shoulders slump and I can tell immediately that he's hopeless. "I don't think so," he replies dejectedly.

"You made a promise to Prim," I remind him as my voice hitches. No need to say that he's promised me too because that memory burns all too bright in my mind.

He nods. "I know."

Hesitantly, I reach toward his face and then tilt it toward me with just my fingertips. His skin is warm where it touches mine, warmer than I anticipated, and I suck in a breath but otherwise so nothing else as he reluctantly meets my eyes. "Peeta."

He smiles slightly but his eyes are still dark, with those purple bags underneath. "Katniss."

"Don't give up already," I say and my voice is dangerously on the verge of breaking. "Fight."

"I made a promise," he tells me solemnly. "But I don't know how much of it was made in the moment or how much of it is impossible." He draws away from me and looks over his shoulder out the window of the train. There's nothing to see but a sheet of darkness as the train slices through the night.

"Fight," I whisper, my hand covering his where it rests on my bed sheets. "Fight."

After a few more moments, he stands up and smiles tightly at me. "I should go to bed. We've got a big day tomorrow."

I nod and wonder what other words I'll have to muster up to convince him that I need him to fight for purely selfish reasons. "Yeah. Okay."

He's just about to close the door behind him when he looks over his shoulder. "Goodnight, Katniss."

I smile. "Goodnight, Peeta."

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When I wake up, it's dark and there are tears on my face. When I close my eyes, all I can see are the same horrible images that passed through my mind the night before the reaping, how much my painting is coming to life in my head. I try to forget it, but it's impossible and I'm afraid to try to sleep anymore.

Instead, I lay in bed, feeling the subtle rocking motion of the train, and the tears fall. All I can do for Peeta is pray and hope and wait for him to win the Games. I know he can do it just like I know my name is Katniss. He's been surviving for years; this is in his blood. But because it's Peeta and he deserves so much more than the Capitol slime, I can't help but fret over him.

I remain in the bed even when Effie knocks on my door, reminding me of the "big, big, big day!" we have ahead of us. My hand is clenched tightly around my father's mockingjay pin as I try to find the courage to rise. It doesn't take long after Effie gives up because I know that my time with Peeta is limited and I have to take advantage of it.

I don't bother changing out of the clothes I dressed into last night, but I braid back my hair and make my way to the dining room quickly. I'm the last one to enter; everyone is already seated. Haymitch looks. . .not better, but not worse. Still there is a flask in his hand and I don't like to see it.

Cyress sits as far away from Haymitch as possible, between Effie and Vesna. Peeta and Vesna are sitting next to Haymitch, but everyone looks up when I make my appearance. The drunkard rises his flask as if to toast me. "'Bout time," he mutters.

Effie looks distressed, but she smiles through it. "I'm so glad you've decided to join us, Miss Everdeen." Is it just me or is she being sarcastic? I didn't know the woman had it in her.

Vesna takes one look at me and dramatically rolls her eyes back to her lavish, steaming breakfast. "Yeah. Me too."

"I'm glad," Peeta pipes up, smiling at me. I smile back because he's the only genuine one in the room. I immediately head for the seat next to him and sit down.

Breakfast is a quiet event, for the most part. Peeta ravenously devours at least half the table, taking care not to make himself sick—figures; he ate next to nothing the night before. Vesna makes a lot of little giggles and wiggles her fingers at him over the table while Cyress keeps an arm around his sister and shovels his own portion into his mouth. Effie compliments our manners, and every five seconds, Haymitch is tossing back another swig of liquor.

It surprises everyone when Peeta reaches toward the man and rips the flask from his hand, hurling it across the room. "Can you just stop? For five minutes, can you _just stop_?" I've never seen him look so angry, and I can't believe I hadn't detected it coming on.

Haymitch stares at his empty hand for a moment before backhanding Peeta across the face. Fire surges in me immediately as Vesna and Effie yelp in surprise and I fling my glass of water at Haymitch. The room goes silent.

"Don't hit him!" I say in a darker voice than I thought I was capable of. It's impressive.

Haymitch stares at Peeta, who rubs at a red print on his face, glaring balefully at the drunkard. "Did I actually get a fighter this year?" the man drawls.

"You're going to be in charge of my life for the next month or so," Peeta snaps. "I've made promises to people I care about. Of course I'm going to fight." His eyes don't so much as flick to my face, but I know he's talking about Prim. About last night. I'm so glad to see this fire in him that I can almost lessen the scowl on my face.

Haymitch nods at him. "Good. And you?" He's staring down Vesna now, who's face pales just when he looks at her. I almost laugh because she won't last five minutes in the arena if she's afraid of her own mentor, and then I'm disgusted with myself for being amused by that thought. When did I decide that I wanted her to die?

Since I've decided that Peeta has no choice but to come back to District 12 with me, I guess.

"What about me?" Vesna squeaks. Cyress is glaring at Haymitch but the older man ignores it.

A grim look passes over his face and he shrugs turning back to his food. "I guess whatever happens, happens," he grumbles.

The train visibly starts to slow and Effie perks up immediately. "We must be close to the Capitol!" The four of us who have never been push out of our chairs and rush to the windows in time to see the light change to dark as we hurtle through the mountains that guard the Capitol. When we see light again, there are people who are lined up against the tracks, dressed ridiculously, waving and pointing excitedly at the tribute train rolling in. Peeta immediately starts waving and smiling at them.

"What are you doing, boy?" Haymitch asks, sounding a bit surprised. I am too. Why would anyone want to greet these people so thirsty for their death in such a friendly manner? Still, I watch as Vesna smiles timidly at the crowds.

"Thought I'd make a good impression," Peeta says. He raises an eyebrow at Haymitch as if challenging him. He's very brave. "Is that a problem?"

The man shakes his head. "A fighter and a thinker," he mumbles to himself.

Cyress hears the comment, and what Haymitch won't say, that there is actually someone in this car who has a chance of winning the Games, just like I knew. That it's Peeta and not the bubble-headed girl grinning like a skull at the Capitol citizens.

Unsurprisingly, Vesna is unperturbed at Haymitch's words. She probably wouldn't understand that he was figuring her death in already if he told her outright. I lean in toward Peeta and start reflecting his actions, even blowing a kiss or two. I'm his companion, and that means my presence will affect how the Capitol people see him. I will make sure they love him.

"Thank you," I whisper to Peeta when I think no one will hear.

He smiles at me as he waves at the people. Our eyes don't meet. "I don't know what I was thinking before. I'll always fight for you, Katniss."


	7. Chapter 7: Peeta

Hey guys! It's Friday and I'm feeling pretty good, so I decided to just go ahead and post this chapter a few days early. All of you have been so kind to me in your reviews that I just want to keep giving back to you. I'll be starting on chapter 10 tonight, and I've never been this far ahead, so this is very good!

Anyways, if the reviews reach 150 or more before next Friday, I'll post the next chapter. It doesn't matter to me; I'm leaving the choice up to all of you (:

Thank you so much for all your support! I hope you enjoy chapter 7!

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**Seven: Peeta**

The moment the doors to the train open the cameras descend on us like a pack of vicious wild dogs and I have a mild panic attack, reaching for Katniss who is at my side. I have seen wild dogs before, but I've been able to kill them on the spot with my arrow; this is much different and I try to compose my face so that I don't give away my horror.

They are all talking at once as they converge, and Peacekeepers have to literally shove citizens and cameras out of their way to even get the six of us out of the train. It's slow going. By the time all of us are out, the crowd has engulfed us and we are pushing forward at a painstaking pace. My feet itch to pound against this pavement and my hand wants to drag Katniss along so that we can run out of the Capitol and disappear into the Wilds.

I can't help it. Every face I see in the throng, I can't help but think they are going to want to watch me die. And as much as I want to, I can't hate them for several reasons that still aren't clear to me.

Katniss is directly behind me, Haymitch in front. Effie brings up the rear behind Cyress and Vesna and it seems like she's the only one even remotely responding to the shouts being thrown our way.

"Yes! We're all very excited to be here!" "They are rather handsome, aren't they!" "Yes, District Twelve, I swear it!"

I think that if Effie and Vesna had met under different circumstances they'd have been the best of friends.

It seems to take over an hour to simply walk the block from the train station to the Training Center and my mind is kept carefully blank the entire time as I watch my feet. One step in front of the other. Right, left. Right, left. Why is the sidewalk full of glitter? No, can't think about it. Right, left. Right, left.

Before too much longer, we are in an elevator heading up to the Remake Center. I can tell that Katniss is nervous because she keeps moving around on her toes, her eyes shifting through the great glass box we are in as it shoots skyward.

Vesna presses against my shoulder and makes a face. "I'm afraid of heights," she says as she reaches to grip my limp hand. I don't believe her for a minute, but I don't want to hurt her feelings.

Katniss glares at Vesna. "You didn't seem to mind them so much when we took our field trips into the mines," she says with a bite to her voice.

Vesna shrugs. "I forgot."

I look at Katniss and smile at her. Vesna may be holding my hand, but the girl glaring at me right now holds my heart. She doesn't know it yet, but she will. Very soon, if I can help it.

"Shut up and stop whining," Haymitch gripes. He's noticeably grumpier without the aid of alcohol but at least he's coherent. My life depends on him and I wasn't going to let him keep drinking himself into oblivion when I need him. Truth is, earlier on the train, the vile way he kept tossing back drinks reminded me achingly of the Witch.

I couldn't stand it, sitting next to him while he drank. He smelled ripe like he hadn't washed in days, and his eyes had been glassy. I guessed he probably had quite the tolerance after so many years, which probably made getting drunk harder, but at nine in the morning with a bottle, I realized he was going to try.

Images of the Witch flashed before my eyes and the anger couldn't be controlled. That woman has scarred me for life, has made it a nightmare to live day to day, and I shouldn't have to put up with that same routine from my district mentor. Before I knew it, I was throwing the flask out of his hand and he was slapping me across the back of the face.

I know he doesn't like me, but he's not drinking anymore, so I take that as a good sign.

The doors of the elevator open when the lift comes to a stop. Vesna tries to tighten her hand around mine but I let it slip, shrugging at the girl when she looks over her shoulder. I don't hate her like Katniss seems to, but I've never _liked_ her either. Especially after all the hateful things I've heard her say. She looks and acts brainless, but I feel like sometimes there's a lot more going on in that head of hers than Katniss gives her credit for.

Effie ushers the rest of the crew off the elevator with a chirp, announcing that we are in the Remake Center. Haymitch nods at us as the doors close and he's lifted up, continuing on to our District 12 suite. She smiles at us and asks for Cyress and me to take a seat on the couch against the wall, and then places her hands on Vesna and Katniss' shoulders.

"I'll take the ladies to their station and then we'll see you later for the opening ceremony!" Effie exclaims. She spins the girls around and there is no time for so much as a goodbye before Katniss is out of my sight, a scowl on her face. She has to deal with both Vesna and Effie, while I'm left only with a constantly angry looking man. He's got his arms crossed severely over his chest and is glaring at the ceiling.

He's been like this since I saw him on the train yesterday, and suddenly I can't really take it anymore. "What's your problem?" I ask, trying to be light in my delivery. I've seen his anger; I don't want to have a broken bone before the Games even start.

Cyress looks at me sharply and frowns deeper. "Excuse me?"

Anxiety presses on my chest because I never, ever wanted Katniss to be in the Capitol, and it's worse that I can't see her, but I have to ignore it because Cyress is looking offended and that's not a good sign. "Your sister is about to be entered into a death game," I say, "and all you can do is gripe at your own situation." I don't add that it disgusts me because that surely won't coax a smile out of him at all.

He leans toward me slightly, keeping his voice down. "You don't get it, do you? Vesna _wants_ to be here."

I find this very hard to believe. "But she was crying so much yesterday."

He shakes his head at me. "She looks stupid. Believe me, I've lived with her for sixteen years. But she's always wanted to be a part of the Hunger Games. Growing up, she always looks forward to watching them. It's suicide to me, but I'm her brother, and when she begged me to come with, I couldn't say no."

My chest tightens even more because Katniss may or may not be alone with this girl right now. Crying. Smiling vacantly. I don't know what to make of all the physical contact she's tried to make with me. Don't even want to think about it. "So that's her strategy, then."

Cyress laughs, but it's not a pleasant sound. "Look, man, I've never _not_ liked you, so if you plan to beat my sister out of victory then you'd better watch your back around her."

I'd be wary of this advice if I didn't find it so strange that he is trying to warn me of Vesna. Does that mean he doesn't care if she comes back to 12 alive? Everything he's said to her, that I can remember, has always been caring enough, but maybe I'm wrong. Maybe there is much more going on with Vesna and her brother than just an insipid smile and an arm about the back. I play with the idea that he's just trying put me on my guard so that I overestimate her, but that doesn't make sense to me either.

All of this hurts my head, and it's too much since I'm already worrying about Katniss. Allowing the Capitol to know how much I care for her is a big mistake, I feel it already. She stubbornly got on the train yesterday without my knowledge, but if I could have prevented it, I would have. Despite all the comfort and relief she brings to me, I hate that the Capitol has her in its greedy hands. That I could lose her if I make the wrong move.

Katniss sees me as nothing more than a friend as far as I've been able to tell. This is good news, even though I'm more than desperate to earn her love. I know it's a long shot, but I'm willing to go the distance if that's what I have to do because it'll be worth it. She's worth it.

Of course, I'd rather go through a thousand Hunger Games than watch her be hurt by the Capitol. I'd rather die a million times than see her suffer at their hands. If bad things happen to her while she's here, it won't matter that she was the one to jump on the train; it'll have been my fault. _I_ walked her to the mayor's house. _I_ picked her for my gym partner._ I_ started the conversation._ I_ made the first move. If she's hurt, it will be because of me, and that's the worst thing I can imagine. She's the most important thing to me now. The most important thing to me ever.

I'm lost in thought, troubling over Katniss involvement in my life when a Peacekeeper approaches me and Cyress and we stand.

"District Twelve?" he says.

"That's us," I tell him, still shaking off my thoughts. I want to ask about Katniss, but it's almost certain he doesn't know.

"This way."

Cyress and I are led past several rooms until we are introduced to one that is split in half, one side for each of us, a curtain separating down the middle. The Peacekeeper is leaving as three, very colorful, very enthusiastic Capitol people burst past him. I swallow my grimace at their grotesque faces and instead smile.

The calmest looking one steps forward and shakes my hand earnestly. "You must be Peeta Mellark. I'm Lativa and this is Markle and Genie. We're going to make you look pretty."

Harmless. I have to remember that she is harmless. "Great. Looking forward to it."

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Cyress is absolutely ridiculous. Lativa and Markle are working on "bronzing" my skin, my chest burning because I've just had all the hair removed from there. It's Cyress's turn now to be stripped of his hair and he's screaming like a dying animal. Maybe I should be more forgiving, but I'm already on edge as it is. I don't need his obscene—and extremely loud—commentary on top of it all.

I'm not sure how long we spend being waxed and stripped and poked and pinched, but it must be hours. Finally, the three of the stylists take a step back from us and grin proudly.

"They look gorgeous!" Genie cries. The spring green color of her hair flounces as she bounces in place ecstatically.

Markle winks at me and then claps his hands together as his gold-tinted lips pull into a wide smile. "I might even be into them!"

Lativa's smile is so big that her stenciled and tattooed eyebrows go high up on her forehead and she's looking as accomplished as the three of them. I don't know if I even look like myself anymore, but I do know I'm grateful that they've placed a towel over my naked lap. I try to smile at them, and find that it's easy. They may be Capitol folk, but they are here to help me, and they deserve the praise for whatever miracle they've been able to perform on me and—in a special case—on Cyress.

"You look fab," Lativa nods and then points at Cyress. "I think you're ready."

"Ready for what?" Cyress squeaks in a very unmanly like way from the other side of the curtain. A quick flash of a grin splits across my face. Townies. They aren't exactly living the life, but I can bet he's never been in pain like me. I can bet he's never had a knife in the leg or a dislocated shoulder.

"Wait right here!" Markle commands as the two women prance out of the room. He looks over his shoulder at me. "You, my dear sir, are going to be quite the heartbreaker." Then they are gone.

"What other form of torture do you think they have lined up for us next, Cyress?" I call out, mostly because his whimpering is amusing me.

He must know I'm having too much fun because he weakly says, "Shut up, Peeta."

It's not long before a woman with tall legs and white blonde hair is coming through the doorway. Her lips are painted too pink, her eye shadow too blue, but she looks bare next to the three I've just spent several hours with. The first thing the woman does is smile at us and there is something about it that has a calming softness. I can immediately tell she's not like the other Capitol citizens I've seen so far.

"Which one of you is Peeta?" she says.

I smile. "Guilty."

She nods and then looks on the other side of the curtain. "You must be Cyress, then. I'm Portia. I'm going to be your stylist for the duration of your stay here." Coming from anyone else, I might have been offended by the casual use of those words, but she seems sincere and the way she is looking at me says that she is genuinely interested in helping.

"Yeah, that's great and all, Portia, but I'm dying over here. Did you really need to get rid of all my hair?" Cyress asks in a whiney voice. I don't mean to, because it's never bothered me before, but the mention of him dying brings a sudden swell of fear into my mind and it laps at my throat. It's hard to swallow. In just over a week, I might be dead.

Portia seems to notice my stiffness and heads toward Cyress without another glance at me. "Yes, unfortunately," she says crisply, "it is mandatory Capitol procedure. Now, put this on and go into the room across the hall. My prep team will be there to help you get dressed into your outfit for tonight."

She throws something at him and after another few minutes of exaggerating and whining, he's closing the door behind him as he leaves the room. Portia throws the curtain back and comes to stand next to the chair I've been stuck in all day. She looks down at me with chocolate colored eyes and smiles.

"I hope you're not afraid of me," she says. "I want you to know that I'm here to help you."

I nod because it's true. "No fear here," I tell her, though the Hunger Games is a whole other story. "Sorry you have to put up with District Twelve." I'm thinking mostly of the way Effie is treated and how unbearably annoying Cyress is when I say this.

She shakes her head. "My partner Cinna is the stylist for your ladies. We both asked for Twelve."

"Oh." I don't know what else to say to that, though I do wonder why they'd pick us. Everyone knows that District 12 are the losers, the ones that everyone passes over without so much as a glance. The tributes from 12 almost always die in the bloodbath at the beginning of the Games. We aren't anything special by a long shot.

"Well," Portia leans back on her heels and makes an upward motion with her finger. "Stand on up, then. Let me see what we've got here."

The towel slips from my waist as I follow instructions, but I'm not embarrassed. I've never really had a problem with nakedness, especially after the day Gale got attacked by a bear in the woods and I had to strip him down to nothing in order to find the whole of the wound. Lucky for him, I'd shot the animal through the brain before it could do any real damage.

Portia examines me before reaching for the robe hanging on the wall next to my chair. She throws it at me and I put it on.

"You truly aren't scared of me?" she says at last with a devious smile.

I tie the belt of the robe around my waist and raise an eyebrow. "No," I say slowly.

Her smile grows into more of a smirk and she brushes her index finger along her bottom lip. "Good. Then you won't run away when I set you on fire."

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Vesna has my hand in a death grip, shuddering away from the small torch that her stylist, Cinna, has extended toward her. I'd feel sorry for her if I wasn't busy eyeing up the one that Portia is holding near me.

"Let me get this straight," I say. "You're going to put us on a chariot and then _light us on fire_?"

Cinna laughs and his eyes sparkle as he looks over at me. "They are going to love it." Everyone knows what he means by "they." He doesn't need to elaborate. The only person I'm honestly concerned about loving it is Katniss, but I haven't seen her since we've been separated at the Remake Center this morning. People keep telling me I'll see her after the tribute parade, but I'm still anxious. I hope she's alright.

"Just trust us, Peeta," Portia insists. I meet her gaze and I know that I do. Hesitantly, I step up. Vesna is so attached that I practically lift her up to my side at the same time. She clings to me desperately as if I'm the only thing keeping her alive in this moment and she turns her face to me as our stylists begin arranging our long black capes perfectly behind us.

"This is worse than the reaping," Vesna declares. Her blue eyes are wide as any I've ever seen, her blonde hair pulled up into a series of delicate knots away from her face. She's beautiful in a perfect, symmetrical way, I realize, but it makes no impression on me. Her hair isn't dark. Her eyes aren't gray. She has no freckle by her left eye, no graceful confidence about her.

"Agreed," I say, just to appease her. "Just remember: stop, drop, and roll."

"Your faith in us knows no bounds," Cinna calls, but he sounds as if he's enjoying our terror. I wonder if Katniss likes him, and how well she'd been able to hold up during the remake process this afternoon. Did she cry out like Cyress because she's never been hurt or have her years working with fire and knives made her resistant like me?

Vesna's eyes grow even larger at my words. "Why would I want to roll? The horses could trample me!"

It's hard to believe what Cyress said earlier about her, when she says things like this. I force a smile. "You're right. That'd be tragic."

The sound of the crowd outside of the building is loud and excited as District 10 begins it's parade down the avenue. The doors can't hold back the sound and there's a constant rumble of enthusiasm as the program wears on. When District 11 leaves the building, the horses on our chariot are pulled forward to the doors. Vesna shrieks at the movement and squeezes my hand tighter.

"Will you hold my hand the whole time?" she asks once steadied. "I don't want to fall."

I hesitate, knowing how much Katniss hates the girl, but in the end I relent. It's just a hand. "Sure."

She beams at me. "Oh, thank you, Peeta."

"Alright!" exclaims Portia. "It's your turn. You both look beautiful!" I can hear it as the flames are set to the cape, but I feel no heat.

Cinna comes around to my side and fixes my headdress a little bit. "Smile. She's out there watching for you." His words are quiet so I know that he means them for my ears alone. I know exactly who he's talking about—why else would he only mention it to me? Still, they are enough to give me courage. I put on my best smile and take a deep breath, my hand flexing around Vesna's.

She gasps as the flames are ignited onto her cape and then our stylists are there, telling us to smile, smile, smile and that the crowd will love us. Then, the doors are creaking open and Vesna is yelling something at me but I can't hear her because the sound of the Capitol crowd is filling every space in my head.

My smile is immediate because someone in this crowd may very well be the difference between my life and death in the weeks to come. I wave as the horses pull us out into the avenue. The flames dance across my back and though Vesna is frozen for a moment, she's quickly following my lead. The crowd screams. I smile. They love me.

I'm barely aware of anything as I put on a good show, letting the fire lick at the night. Vesna and I are absolutely brilliant, but as beautiful as she is, I find myself thinking of Katniss and wondering what she thinks of this show-stopping display of flames. Where is she? Can she see me? Is she safe? Cant' let my anxiety show. I smile. I wave. The Capitol swoons and I know I will be all anyone can talk about until the training scores are announced.

Light of the fire flickers across Vesna's face as she pumps her fist in the air and grins for the Capitol's pleasure. I would have found it amusing for her awkward body, for her tough girl charade, if I hadn't seen the spark of real eagerness in her eyes. I smile still, telling myself it's just a trick of the light. Cyress' words ring in my head but I ignore them. They are nothing.

After nearly an hour of parading around the tribute's avenue, the District 12 chariot is being pulled back into the large basement cavity of the building we left from. My ears still pound with the sound of a million screaming voices. I stiffly pry Vesna's hand away from mine because physical contact is no longer necessary. She looks at me blankly before blushing and ducking her head.

"Sorry, Peeta," she mumbles.

"It's okay," I tell her as I rub the circulation back into my fingers.

Our prep teams are converging on us. Portia and Cinna are praising us for keeping such composure and how elegant it was. Yes. We were magnificent, possibly the most memorable of any tribute pair of any previous of the Games. The Capitol will not soon forget us. But that doesn't matter to me, even if it means I will have thousands of sponsors while in the arena. No, the only thing that matters is Katniss and where she is right now.

"Portia," I say as she lifts the headdress off my hair. "Where is Katniss?"

She looks slightly nervous and drops her eyes, forcing a smile as cameras and victors and tributes flood the floor. "Katniss and the other tribute companions have been graced with the honor of attending a private dinner with President Snow."

The ecstasy that the parade has left me with is gone in an instant. My stomach clenches, head spins, knees shake. I don't know how dangerous President Snow is, but how good can he be if he's left Panem in a state of constant hunger and oppression? If he's in continual support of the Hunger Games?

"She's at his _house_?" I ask, my voice strained.

Portia's fake smile only gets faker, and seeing that is what tips me off to the severity of the situation. How much danger Katniss is in because of me. "_Peeta_," Portia scolds playfully, forcefully, for the dozens of ears within range, "you should be happy for her. A dinner with the president is of the utmost honor."

But we both know it's not true. She's a target now, because of me. Because I've dragged her into this mess of the Capitol where people want me to die. Because if there's anything I know, it's that Katniss will do what she feels necessary to get me through the next few weeks alive. She may not feel the same way about me as I do her, but if she's ready to throw herself on a train to the Capitol for my sake, then there is no limit to what other things she may do.

The terror is immediate. Gripping. I have to remind myself to breathe, to smile at the cameras and reporters, the old victors and scowling tributes that look my way.

Even though I've not yet been placed in the arena, the Games have already begun.


	8. Chapter 8: Katniss

Happy Friday! Boy, I can't begin to grasp this week. Was it fast or slow? I don't know. You tell me.

Anyways, I've been looking forward to this day for a couple reasons. One, it's only a week from the movie release and COMEONBUTWHOISN'TEXCITEDABOUTTHAT? Ahem. I regret nothing. Secondly, I've been so eager to give you the next chapter in Dependent. The response to the last one was awesome and I'm so excited to see Dependent doing so much better than my other HG fics. Maybe I do carry Peeta and Katniss' voices better than I originally thought.

So. If the reviews get to 200 before Thursday (I'm going to post a day early because of the midnight showing, which I'll be attending, and because I'm going to be in too much of a HG haze on Friday to remember) I will post chapter 9. Who knows? It's a happy happy week of Hunger Games mania. Anything could happen, right?

Hope you enjoy the chapter! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it!

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**Eight: **_Katniss_

My body is raw and tingling, but my skin is smooth and hair braided back into an elegant mess on my head. Vesna's stylist for the Games, Cinna, has just finished dressing her for the opening ceremony. She looked beautiful and a small part of me wonders if Peeta will notice.

Cinna smiles at me. "Now that she's out of the way, I can focus on you." Even though he's from the Capitol, the way he says this is calm in his quiet voice, and for the first time since getting off the train, I don't feel like running away. "You are Peeta's companion, yes?"

I nod. "Yes."

He examines my naked body where I stand and then clicks his tongue together. "Fire would have looked good on you. I'll have to remember that."

I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean, but I feel myself fidgeting under his gaze until he hands me a robe and gestures to me with his finger. "This way." He leads me across the wide room full of expensive, frilly furniture to a closet, which he opens to reveal a plastic bag hanging from a bar.

"No offense," I say as he unhooks the bag, "why do you even care what I look like?" I know it's important to me, because I have to make a good impression for Peeta. But Cinna isn't supposed to be my stylist; his job concerns Vesna.

He smiles at me gently as if expecting my wariness. Maybe he is. "Can you keep a secret, Katniss?"

Uh, okay. "Yes."

His eyes dart around the room with a playful air of a false conspirator and then leans down to whisper loudly by my ear. "Between you and me, that girl was driving me insane. But shhh. I'm not supposed to have favorites." He straightens and winks at me, his gold eyeliner—the only mark of the Capitol on him—glistening in the light of the room.

I like him almost a thousand times more just because of his confessed dislike for Vesna. I find myself smiling at him because of it. "Well, I'd tell you a secret too, except it's no secret that I can't stand her."

He laughs at my bluntness and then lays the plastic bag out on a chair. "A breath of fresh air for the city. I've never heard a louder truth before. It's no wonder your friend asked you to come with him."

"You know Peeta?" I ask in surprise, though I really shouldn't be. He probably knows my middle name and favorite color for all the information the Capitol has put on file about me.

"My partner Portia is his stylist," Cinna says, and then smiles as he slowly undoes the zipper, "and she may have mentioned how often he's been asking after you all day."

I'm blushing now, heat and color flooding to my cheeks. It's too much to hope that he won't notice it, and I know when he does because his grin widens. "Oh."

"Yes," he nods, "oh."

I avert my eyes to the zipper of the bag and then they are growing wide. He catches my gaze and I hear another smile in his voice.

"You like it?" He's soft and not intimidating.

I don't answer. Instead, I reach for the silky red fabric and pull the dress out of the bag. The material slides across my fingers and caresses them as it falls to its full length, which ends at mid-calf. The back of the dress scoops lower than the neckline, and the sleeves are cut thick at the shoulders. Glitter sparkles in the light and then I think I see a flash of blue, a lick of orange, a touch of white. I revel in the simplicity of it, and I'm almost certain it's not for me.

"It's beautiful," I whisper.

"Portia and I have decided that the whole coal miner thing has been beaten lifeless," he explains, gently taking the dress from me. "So we've decided to instead focus on the fire that comes from your coals. Peeta and Vesna will be making a dazzling debut tonight, and we thought that you and Cyress should look just as impressive for your dinner."

This is news to me. I look up at his face for the first time since seeing the dress in shock. "Dinner? What dinner?"

He looks wary now. "You haven't been informed?"

My eyes are wide. "_Informed_? Of _what_?"

Cinna looks uncomfortable and it's unnatural. I don't know this man very well except that he's gentle and very unlike the Capitol people I've met so far, but I can tell right now that he's not normally out of his comfort zone. "The president has requested the company of the companions tonight for dinner at his mansion, before the opening ceremony."

I feel my throat go dry because something grips my stomach and fills it with ice. It might be fear. "No," I say, fighting to keep the terror from my voice, "no, I'm afraid I _haven't_ been informed." That's only a few hours away—Vesna has been told that she'll have an hour and a half of instruction on what to do and then they have to wait to fill the seats of Capitol citizens and President Snow will be giving a grand speech before it all starts.

Cinna forces a smile. "Well, on the bright side, now you know. Let's get you dressed, shall we?"

Only moments later, I'm looking at myself in a floor length mirror gazing at the dress as I wear it. I understand now what Cinna had meant by incorporating fire into the outfits—when I move, I look like a spark flying off into the night, a flame that has yet to build into an inferno. With my makeup and hair done, and the dress fitted to my body, I look beautiful. I didn't know it was possible.

"You look dazzling," Cinna says, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I smile at him in the mirror. "Thanks to you. You're brilliant, Cinna."

He laughs. "I knew there was a reason I liked you better."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Cyress sits next to me in a ridiculously long car, another body pressed against my shoulder. All twenty four companions have been squeezed into to stretch vehicles that I've heard called limousines. The drive from the Training Center to the president's mansion is short enough, and everyone in the car—all dressed in various states of beautiful—is silent.

Though Cyress is from my district and I have known of him my whole life, I find no comfort in his presence. I keep thinking about my family and what they must be doing right now. About Prim, left alone at the bakery with no one to watch over her. About Peeta and what he's doing to prepare for the cameras right now.

I must think of Peeta. He must always be in my mind tonight because every word I say, every sliver of eye contact, every action, may lead up to deadly consequences in the arena if I'm not careful. It's terrifying that his life may be riding on something as frivolous as a Capitol dinner but I don't call the shots here. While Peeta is out blinding the crowd with his brilliancy, I will be inside President Snow's mansion, making a stunning impression. I can only hope that I do him justice and be secure in the fact that he trusts me.

A Peacekeeper opens the car door once the vehicle has come to a stop. The companions all file out, and with movement comes a flutter of whispered words too low for a lingering ear to catch. I take this moment to call Cyress' attention.

"Your sister's life is riding on tonight, you know," I tell him under my breath. Twilight is falling in the sky, but the lights of the Capitol make it seem like daytime still. My dress glitters.

Cyress meets my eyes and he nods with a scowl. I have to admit, as plain as he is from day to day, Portia has done wonders on him. He's wearing mostly black with a shiny collar that shimmers with yellow light, his ashy hair slicked back from his forehead, his bluish-gray eyes narrowed at me. "How about you worry about your boyfriend, and I'll worry about my sister."

I blush because Peeta is most definitely not my boyfriend, but don't say anything else because I'm flustered. Try to give a guy advice and he makes a move to bite my head off. That's the last time I try to channel Peeta's caring, gentle nature.

The minute I step into the mansion my body goes cold, as if it knows what I'm about to be facing, how much is at stake. I plaster a look of awe onto my face and gaze around at the endless, beautiful lines. The furniture, the polished wood, the candles, the diamond chandelier, the marble tiles of the floor. Every district of Panem has left it's signature in every room. District 12's is glowing in the fireplace.

All the companions are murmuring as we are ushered through the large foyer of the mansion. I'm on sensory overload because of all the beautiful things I see, and the overwhelming scent of a rose. No, not one rose, because the smell is far too potent. Hundreds of roses. Thousands of roses. They are not so inconspicuously placed around the room and once I've noted them, they are too much.

Finally, we are shown a large, spacious room with a glass wall that looks out over the city. Two large screens are paneled on opposite walls and it's only when I get a close look at the massive crowd out the window wall that I realize we will be eating while watching the opening ceremonies. My fear dies a little bit, and strength rushes through me. At least I will be able to see Peeta, to give me some semblance of courage.

A man enters the room behind us and our murmurs fall silent at the sight of him. We'd know him from anywhere. White rose pinned to the lapel of his jacket, his white hair slicked back smoothly from his face, the sagging skin that has seen twenty too many cosmetic procedures. President Snow.

He gestures toward the elongated table. "Welcome, my friends," he says in his quietly intimidating way, "to my home. Please. Make yourselves comfortable." The companions all exchange nervous glances, but a boy from District 1 promptly takes his seat and the rest of us follow. Though Cyress has made it clear that we are not allies—and I really couldn't bear to be associated closely with the Drannels siblings in the first place—I sit next to him because he's familiar, making sure that I have full view of both the window and the TV screen.

President Snow smiles at all of us and then introduces about twenty or so of his friends, who come to join us at the table. Roughly translated, this means we are dining with twenty of Panem's wealthiest people. It's nerve-wracking, especially since Snow makes a point to come around and shake every single one of our hands. When he gets to me, he smiles wanly and I am immediately reminded of a snake.

"District 12," he says smoothly as he notes the color of my skin. Seam people are the only citizens in Panem with my specific complexion, stolen from my mother's side. "You look lovely." The smell of roses—and is that blood?—floats under my nose. I must not gag, I must not gag, I must not gag.

"Thank you, sir," I say kindly, too eagerly, bowing my head as if I've lived my whole life just waiting for this moment. It must please him and I must be acting well because he smiles wider and moves on to the District 4 girl at my right. I repress the urge to shudder and take my seat again.

After that, the night is a whirlwind of rich, Capitol food and noisy conversation. Most of the companions have burst their solitude bubbles and begin talking to one another. Despite the fact their friends and family members will be fighting against each other, there is almost a camaraderie in the air, brought on by the mutual understanding of our situation. I even find myself exchanging a few polite words with the District 4 girl.

Soon after the main course of the meal has been served, the TVs flicker on and then President Snow exits onto a balcony beyond the window wall and makes a grand speech about the Hunger Games and how glorious they are. I fight urge to be sick and tinker with my fork.

"And so, let the opening ceremony commence!"

The crowd below goes wild and Snow retreats back inside. His guests from the Capitol gush about how well-executed his speech was and then start to shriek over the costumes as, little by little, the districts are revealed on the screens. I can't hear or absorb much as I watch them.

District 1 is literally dazzling with millions of tiny gemstones, 3's chariot is sparkling with an electrical current illusion. The tributes from 2 have a boisterous approach to the Games as they pump their fists and grin widely at the crowds; District 4 is wearing aqua colored suits that seem to ripple like water and 7 is holding a pair of axes in their hands. Watching 11 is hard to swallow; the sweet girl that looks like Prim seems much smaller and delicate in her wispy costume, standing in the shadow of a boy who must be two and a half times taller.

I try to be patient, to take in the opponents and categorize. Strategize. But I'm only waiting for Peeta, dreading the portion of the night when dinner will be done and I will have to talk to these rich Capitol people. I remind myself it is all for him, and then it feels a little easier.

It takes longer than it should before the District 12 chariot is pulled out of the building by two, beautiful black horses. Initially, my eyes are in awe and I actually share in the general reaction of the room when we sigh from the beauty of it. Flames, just like Cinna said, only they are more real that I could have imagined.

Peeta is handsome and his smile is wide. When his eyes catch a camera and he waves, he's so genuine and sweet and _Peeta_ that I believe it could just be an exchange between the two of us. The crowd gets louder, begins to shout his name. I realize that I'm not the only one to feel this way.

After the wave emotion that I'm racked by, half of which is unidentifiable, my thudding heart jumps when I realize that he is holding Vesna's hand. On live television. For all of Panem to see. He seems completely oblivious to it, like it's just being done subconsciously, but I can tell that Vesna is reveling in it. She laughs and blows kisses at the audience, raises her and Peeta's hands into the air, as if they are one unmovable, united force. To make matters worse, she makes me and my sparkly dress look unequivocal and pathetic. They are radiant. No one will measure up to them tonight.

Still, though all this rushes through me, I keep smiling and talking animatedly to the companions around me because they are in just as much a tizzy as anyone in the Capitol, thrilled to see their loved ones making such a great impression. Everyone knows I'm 12, and I can feel the jealous stares from those who aren't quite as enthusiastic.

The chariots make their rounds for about an hour before they start to disappear. Peeta keeps his composure wonderfully and I'm really wondering if he needs much help from me to make him even more desirable. He's got a good, strong face, a fit frame, that blonde hair that curls over his ears, his easy-going countenance. It's really no wonder the Capitol already loves him.

We are moved into a large ballroom and then the Capitol citizens descend upon me as the size of the crowd grows; Snow must be permitting more sponsors to come. I'm reminded of the time I saw a mouse picked off by a hawk in the sooty lane outside the bakery and I brace myself for their attack. It's no less brutal than I imagined it would be. The whirlwind of conversation leaves me exhausted and breathless. Every smile I force feels like it has less effect; but I keep trying. For Peeta.

The last citizen to talk to me has corkscrew, neon green curls that stick directly out from his head. His eyes are slit like a cats, and he moves toward me like one too. I smile weakly, willing myself to be the best I can for Peeta as the bodies of a packed room release their heat and suffocate my skin.

"District Twelve," he purrs as he approaches. He has no semblance of personal space because I find that his face is far too close for my liking and I can feel the warmth of his body temperature kissing my bare skin, more than anyone else in the room. I step away as subtly as possible, keeping my smile plastered to my face.

"Yes," I say, "that's me."

"Who is your tribute, lovely?" he asks me. His eyes wander down my body and I clear my throat two times before he looks back up at my face. My skin crawls.

"Peeta Mellark," I tell him brightly.

"He's made quite the impression tonight."

"Oh yes," I gush, feeling so far out of my league it isn't even comical. "I'm so proud of him! He was so convinced that the Capitol wouldn't love him, but I knew better. Just listen to them now!" It's true. You can hear the buzz of the crowd through the walls, even above all other conversation in the room.

The man stares at me for a moment and then a sly smile spreads across his face. "You love him," he says.

I feel my eyes widen with shock and I choke on my words as they stumble out, my cheeks burning. "Oh, no, sir. You're wrong. Peeta and I are just friends."

I can tell that this is my mistake because he creeps closer again. His breath smells like some rotten vegetable and this close up I can see the lines in his face, the injections that have been inserted into his skin, the grotesque red in his lips to give the illusion of constantly perfect makeup. I want to gag as his eyes move down my body again, ever more slowly.

"That is indeed fantastic news," he says. He meets my eyes again and smirks. "How far are you willing to go, Twelve, in order to secure your tribute a sponsor?"

I'm not an idiot. I know what he's implying and I can't help myself when I raise my hand to slap him across the face. Just before I can let the blow hit home, another man—normal looking, yet dazzling, really despite all the other gorgeous things in the room—intercepts my hand and pulls me with him into his side.

"There you are!" he exclaims as he holds onto me securely. "I've been looking all over the place for you, Katniss."

I have to admit, the man is vaguely familiar but I can't recall where from. Still, I do realize that he's just saved me—and Peeta—from repercussions of my temper and I only purse my lips in response. My fists clench at my sides as I try to hold back any anger or any other variety of an outburst. It's the last thing I need tonight.

He looks to the green-haired man and grins. "Excuse us, will you, Talik?" He is pulling me away from Talik before the Capitol man can respond, an arm still wound around my waist as we disappear into the crowd of companions and sponsors.

"Who are you?" I whisper under my breath.

"Playing coy with me, are you?" he replies, smiling at a group of people that he pushes us through.

A couple of sponsors tell me that I look lovely, that my district has done splendidly tonight and I give them my thanks as we pass. "If there's one thing I don't do, it's play coy," I mutter, looking at him sideways.

He looks down at me, playfully wounded as we break the pressed area of bodies and are finally given more than two feet of breathing room. "I figured that," he says, and then spins me out of his grasp. I twirl for a moment before I bump into a solid body that smells familiarly of white liquor and. . .well, liquor in general. Surprised, I glance up to see that Haymitch is scowling down at me.

"Please tell me you haven't done any damage, sweetheart," he gripes.

I'm too shocked for a moment to form the words but then Talik's implications bring an angry flush back to my cheeks. "No," I spit.

He clearly doesn't believe me and looks up to the man who led me away from Talik. "Is she telling the truth, Finnick?"

Finnick? As in, Finnick Odair, victor of the 65th Hunger Games? I look at the man now and recognize his chiseled features, the bronze hair, the infamous smirk, the sea green eyes. He's looking at me and seems to understand that I know who he is now, which only draws his smile wider.

"Of course, Haymitch," Finnick says, winking at me. "She's much too brutal to be a liar."

I see myself slapping Talik again as Haymitch narrows his eyes down at me in suspicion. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing!" I exclaim, exasperated with the look on his face. He sighs and nods his head at Finnick, who looks as if he's suppressing laughter.

"Thank you, Finnick. Might as well let you get on with your lot. Hope they aren't as much trouble as mine," Haymitch grumbles.

Finnick says a few parting words and especially makes time to tell me that I look beautiful and that he'll be thrilled to meet my acquaintance again soon. After blowing a kiss at me, he winks again, slaps me on my behind, and ducks back into the fray. I really don't even know what just happened.

Haymitch still doesn't look too happy, but then again, I'm getting the feeling he never smiles. Still, he doesn't ask me anymore about what I've done, only slouches against the wall and stares at the throng of people. "Where's the girl's brother?" he asks gruffly.

"He wandered off when they started serving cake," I say, unable to help the bitterness in my voice. "Why?"

He glances at me and then sighs. "Your boy has done his part. Now its our turn." Sharply, he nods toward the crowd and then I'm following him back into the pressed bodies, the mingling scents of perfumes and smudges of makeup. We have an impression to make.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::

I kick off my high heeled shoes as Haymitch, Cyress, and I all load onto the elevator. My eyes are tired and heavy and I want sleep, but after a whole two hours aside from dinner and the opening ceremonies of being in a room full of sponsors my nerves are very much alive and my mind is restless. The glass lift shoots into the air, carrying us toward our District 12 suite.

Cyress leaves first when we get to our stop, grumbling and cursing and exclaiming how it doesn't matter what we do, Vesna and Peeta will die. He stomps down the hall and out of sight, and I assume he's found his room when we hear a door slam shut.

Haymitch looks at me tiredly and rubs his eyes and for the first time, I don't see a bitter, sloppy drunkard, but a man who has spent too many hours of his life watching children die. "Not bad tonight, sweetheart. Not bad."

This is practically worship compared to all the other scathing things he muttered at me tonight. I had been so sure that once we got to our suite he'd yell and scream about how I've sealed Peeta's fate, but he's not. He doesn't even look at me as he lumbers to his room and staggers against the door frame. "Now tomorrow," he mutters, "we do it all again."

The door closes behind him and then it's just me and my heels gathered into one hand, standing alone beyond the elevator. I can feel the emotion just behind my eyelids, waiting to fall out. So many underhanded remarks have reached my ears. So many slips of unknown hands have brushed against my skin. I'm weary and guarded and ready to be alone inside my own head.

Slowly, I make my way down the hall, trying to be quiet because it's very late and I don't want to wake anyone up, especially seeing as Peeta and Vesna have their first training day tomorrow and they will need all the sleep they can get. But I'm gifted with a surprise when I enter a room with my name on it, turn on the light, and find a blonde boy sprawled out on my bed, lost in sleep.

For the first time tonight, my smile feels genuine. I close the door behind me and drop my shoes. They make a soft clunk as they hit the carpet, but other than that, the only noise in the room is the sound of Peeta's deep breathing. I sit on the edge of my bed and examine Peeta's face where it has been stilled into a mask of oblivion.

I reach my hand forward tentatively and brush my fingers along a scar near his cheekbone, let them continue around to comb through his locks of hair. He startles awake at my touch, his eyes frantic and wild for a moment before they lock on mine.

"Hey," I say softly.

"Katniss?" he says and then he's in a sitting position so quickly, his arms pulling me into him with such abruptness that I have no time to register that he's holding me until he is. "Thank God you're okay."

I rest my head against his shoulder. "Of course I'm okay."

I feel his cheek press against the top of my head. "I didn't know. I didn't know they would send you. . .that you would be. . ."

I know what he's trying to say, and I know why he can't finish it. This room isn't safe for our words, not really. There's no need for further conversation on the topic, though, because it doesn't matter where I was. I'm here now. "You were wonderful tonight, Peeta."

He sounds bashful. "Not really. It was Cinna and Portia that made us look so spectacular. I don't know why they wasted it on us."

An image of Vesna is brought to mind and I scowl. "Well, you deserved it. However, what was all that? Holding Vesna's hand?"

He's nonchalant about it, as if it means nothing. "She begged and insisted she would fall out if I didn't. I thought it wasn't worth making a deal out of."

Of course he's right; it's not. It's not his fault that I get bitter wherever he and she are involved. They've been thrown together by chance, by the whim that the Capitol has chosen them for the Games. That's the one thing that Peeta and I have that no one else does: we go beyond the Games. Our friendship was forged before the reaping, and so I can still believe that a part of us, of our quick and new relationship, is still pure.

"I don't like it, Peeta," I say, finally.

"What?" he asks, sounding mystified.

I pull away and scoot from him so that I can see his face. "Her. I don't like her with you. She's got something on her mind. She's planning something. I don't like it."

He seems to absorb what I'm saying for about two seconds before his eyes find my outfit. My skin slowly flushes as they wander down the dress to my knees and then back up to my face. His expression is peculiar; he's never looked at me this way before, really, but it sends shivers down my spine and suddenly the room feels hot, both of us blushing.

"Sorry," he mumbles, staring at me. "I. . .sorry."

Should he be sorry? I don't know. "It's fine," I murmur, glancing away from him. Something has passed between us. Something new and thrilling that I haven't felt before. I'm suddenly hyper-aware of the space between us, how small it is, how much I'm finding I want to close it.

"Katniss," he says, leaning back from me, sucking in a deep breath. "What did the president want with you tonight?"

My face is still hot, but I appreciate his effort at redirecting the conversation. My pulse thuds, my heart pounds and for a moment I'm wondering what would have happened, if I had closed that space. "Snow just had the Capitol's top sponsors and the tributes' companions for dinner before the ceremony," I say, steadying myself. "Afterwards, the victors showed up and it turned into some kind of sponsor hunt."

"Sponsor hunt?" He's clearly amused at my word choice.

I nod. "I bet you'd be good that that. The only thing I've ever been successful at hunting is bread." I raise my arms and make a motion of pulling an arrow back in a bow and letting it fly.

Peeta chuckles at me. "I'd like to see that."

We smile at each other for a moment before his face softens and he looks once again at my dress, only briefly this time. "You look beautiful, Katniss."

I laugh him off and stand, all too aware how small the bed is. "Not as beautiful as you in the flames. They'll be talking about you for a long time."

He shakes his head as if I don't get it, but rises to his feet and allows a smile. "I should probably go to bed," he says.

I nod, though I'm finding I don't want him to go. "Probably."

We meet at the foot of my bed and his body is just inches from mine, warm and lean from days in the woods. I can feel myself holding my breath as his hand brushes against my face, my eyes closing as he presses his lips to my forehead. It's all too much. Too much.

"Goodnight, Katniss," he whispers into my skin.

I wonder if he can hear my heart beat, even as the door is closing behind him. Even as he's making his way down the hall.


	9. Chapter 9: Peeta

Yikes! I promised this chapter yesterday and well, to be honest, I was too Hunger Games crazed to even remember that I was writing a fic :/ On the plus side, my fangirling was totally worth it; I loved the movie. A lot. I know that they ditched things and added in others, but it was still THE HUNGER GAMES and all the important details were in there. That's all that ever mattered to me. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the movie :]

Anyways, I'm getting off track. Sorry for not posting earlier; I feel really bad about that! I hope you enjoy chapter nine and if I can get to say, 215 reviews before Friday, I will update sooner. You guys have been fantastic to me so far and I really can't say thank you enough.

Hope you like the chapter! Let me know, kay?

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**Nine: **_Peeta_

Vesna has been my shadow for the better part of the day. I keep trying to shake her, to head to the training stations that I know she'll hate, but she follows me anyways, chattering incessantly about gossip and drama from back home in 12, of all things. Haymitch had told me this morning during breakfast that he didn't care how we presented each other, but he did expect us to "uphold respect and dignity" for his good name.

I'm pretty sure that last part was sarcasm, but I'm too afraid to assume. Haymitch doesn't seem like the type of person to joke around and he's especially scary when he's sober. It's just a rough situation for all involved.

Throughout the morning, when not trying to dodge Vesna's questions, I've been thinking mostly about Katniss and partly about whatever strategy I need to develop going into the Games. I know where my head should be; right here, right now, as I attempt to master a series of knots at a training station. That's not where it is though. I keep seeing Katniss as she was last night. Beautiful. Unguarded. Real.

And that _dress_. . .

I've been trying my best to ignore what her mere presence does to me, but seeing her in that perfect shade of red with the other sparkling colors of a fire brought desires to the surface that I've been desperately trying to oppress. It was wrong and selfish of me to have indulged in examining her, I know that now. Katniss doesn't deserve to be gawked at. But still. That_ dress_. . .

She didn't punch or snap at me, so I count that as a victory.

"No, no, no," the knot man corrects me as he pulls my finger from my length of rope. He twists them around deftly and within moments he's completed a knot I've been trying my hand at for twenty minutes. "Like this."

"Right," I mutter, as I take my rope back and undo the knot. Katniss pollutes my thoughts; I can't shake her off as easily as I need to. She is always beautiful to me but last night was different. She was older and softer. Accepting me, though I know that her first instinct is to push away so that she avoids caring. She may not realize it, but I do. Last night was monumental.

She let me kiss her for crying out loud.

On the forehead, but still.

It counts.

"No!" Knot Man says with a trace of amusement; he must enjoy watching me flounder around helplessly. "Over the loops and double back around. Through the crossing."

My fingers fumble. "Like this?"

He laughs at me. Yep. Definitely entertained. "Twelve, I don't know if we have enough time in the world to teach you knots before the Games. Best move onto something else where your time won't be wasted." He's right; my forte had always been strength and aim. Gale is the one who has a knack for traps and snares and ropes.

Despite myself, I smile at Knot Man and nod good-naturedly. "Fair enough. Thanks for your time."

He seems surprised by my politeness but quickly regains composure as Vesna lopes up with a wide, wide smile. "Hey! I've been looking everywhere for you!" She sticks her arm through mine and takes a firm hold of my hand. It's strange, being so close to her after thinking about Katniss all day and I feel like I'm betraying myself. Subtly, I shrug away from Vesna and step away as I head for the camouflage station.

"Well," I say, "I've been right here." I try to amble away, but she reaches for me again and wraps her fingers around my wrist. Anchoring herself there.

"I guess I wasn't looking in the right places." A giggle. She threads her fingers through mine and it's wrong. I sharply disentangle myself and try to keep the frustration from my face when I glance at her.

"Vesna. Stop," I say. She's driving me crazy. I can handle if it she's just going to talk all day, but if she's going to try to be making contact so unnecessarily and constantly, I'm not going to allow it. That's for Katniss alone.

Vesna looks at me innocently and taken aback. "But I'm _scared_, Peeta." She doesn't sound like it. She sounds annoyed, as if I should be coming to comfort her instead of having her seek me out.

I try not to look exasperated. "You didn't look terrified when you were talking it up with District Two over there." I nod in the direction of the boy from 2, who is sparring intensely against some trained Capitol goon. Their grunts and exhales of frustration reach me from way over here.

She rolls her eyes. "I'm making alliances, Peeta. Cato is so blinded by confidence that when I tell him to eat this—" she holds up a green, leafy plant that I know from days in the woods to be extremely poisonous, and her voice drops to barely above a whisper—"he'll keel over dead in a matter of minutes."

These are the first words she's said that have made me believe Cyress' warnings about her. These words make me realize that this is Vesna's strategy and that she knows perfectly well what she's doing. The greenery she's holding is fatal if consumed and she must have learned that from her work in the flower shop back in 12. It makes me wary, to think about what else she might know.

The only thing I can think to say as I stare at her pale face, that acute blankness gone from her expression, makes me sound like an idiot. "But he's a Career."

She sets the plant on a table as we reach the camouflage station. The runner smiles at us and gestures toward the various array of items, telling us that they are at our disposal. I offer her a smile before she becomes distracted by the girl from 7 asking a question.

"That's exactly why we should team up with them," Vesna says in a low voice, dipping her fingers in the mixtures and drawing a random pattern on the table top. I try to ignore how much that aggravates me and instead go to work on my arm, trying to paint it look like a rock. "They wouldn't be expecting it from District Twelve; we're supposed to be the weaklings."

She is smart. Far too smart for me to be safe around. I have to keep my distance. "I won't do it," I tell her. To 12, joining the Careers is an unspeakable act which can reflect poorly on the family left behind in the district. Not that my decisions would matter; the Witch is about the most frowned upon person in all of District 12 and she didn't need me to give her that reputation.

In all truth, I've been watching the little girl from District 11 out of the corner of my eye all day as she spent her time at the climbing station. She wiggles up the tall poles and trees and ropes like a squirrel. But it's not just that. Every time I look at her I feel a pang of despair.

Wide, brown eyes, dark skin and black hair are truly the only interchangeable parts. Replaced with blue, blonde and pale this girl—Rue, I believe—would be Prim in the flesh. Looking at Rue, I can't help but remember Prim's eyes as she stared up at me, making me promise her that I'd come home. Just another Everdeen girl that has managed to crawl under my skin and into my heart.

Vesna frowns at me and draws a heart with a blood red color, her hand smudging the tail of it. "Peeta. I. . .I just want to help you."

I don't look at her. It's easier not to, to concentrate on my work and push everything from my mind. "Only one is coming out of that arena," I murmur, hating myself for speaking the words. I don't dislike Vesna enough for her to die. In fact, I don't want anyone to die. "It would be best. If you stayed away from me."

She presses in close to me, sounding distressed. "I _can't_ stay away from you."

I glance up at her, alarmed by the passion in her voice and the desperation on her face. Her eyes are large, staring at me with a kind of hope that I know I'm going to have to break. I can't believe I've never seen it before and now I wish I hadn't. This memory of her face will always be burned into my mind, no matter how I feel about her.

"Vesna," I shake my head at her. "No."

She looks crestfallen immediately and her eyes well with tears. "Why not?"

I lean in closer to her and drop my voice because we are starting to attract eyes and that's the last thing we need right now. "We can talk about this later, Vesna. Not now."

She brushes quickly at her eyes and I have to wonder if this is just another part of her strategy. How much of this girl is real? "But Peeta—."

I look at her scathingly. "We are going into the arena in a week. One week. I've got that much time to cram as much knowledge about survival into my head before my death is being plotted. I don't want to be harsh, but I don't have time for this right now." I feel bad as I say it; I've only ever talked to the Witch in this manner. . .eh, with the exception of Haymitch.

Her lip trembles and then she shudders. "Fine!" And then she's running across the room and disappearing from my sight. All the eyes present slide toward me but I studiously ignore them because this is impossible and the only way I can function is if I believe it is.

Why does it have to be this way? Why does it have to be so hard to live and breathe and exist? What is the point? This world is no longer allowed to exist in its simplest form with peace and love and happiness, but in a dark haze where every breath is labored and every thought is dangerous. How has it come to such a crucial point, where love and life are essential and complimentary? Why must it destroy everything in it's path?

I can't see what I'm doing and I'm terrified. Between the way things are now and the way they should be—joy, comfort, ease—there is no right or wrong. There is only what you feel and what you are allowed to feel, what you think and are allowed to say. Someday, perhaps, it will be easier. But for now, I'll just have to carry the burden of repressed feelings, born in a place where they are forbidden.

I love Katniss. Vesna loves me. And the Capitol will eventually try to find a way to kill them both.

The thing with that is that the Capitol is going to try and hurt me in the most crippling way possible, and it will happen faster if I do something they don't approve of. I understand that now more than ever after the opening ceremonies, the fact that Katniss had a mandatory obligation to have dinner with the president last night. Hell, if that hadn't been enough to wake me up, the horn at the Cornucopia will have done the trick.

The Capitol will do things to break me to show that they are the ones that exert power. That they hold the key to my survival, on any given day in any given situation. Well, I won't believe that. _I_ call the shots on my life, not them. _I _decide who I'm going to love and why. Not them. I'm not going to let them turn me into something I'm not. They don't own me. They don't have a right to that.

And I'll figure out a way to prove that, if it's the last thing I do.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The training days pass by in a blur. Vesna avoids me at all costs now, and though I do feel bad because of my severity, I can't bring myself to regret a single word. I'm sorry that she has to hurt, but I can't take away that pain. She may believe that, but I don't. I belong to Katniss. It's the simple truth of my world, my universe. When all else falls apart and the sky releases its tears, I know that I am hers.

Alliances haven't been forged between myself and any of the other tributes. I'm afraid to approach any one of them, afraid that if I let myself bond over the idea of our survival I won't be able to kill later, when I need to. And anybody going into the Hunger Games knows that they are going to have to fight or defend sooner or later. I had briefly considered Rue, and possibly Thresh, since he seems to keep to himself like me, but it's a bad idea. Rue is too much like Prim and I would become attached. Thresh is dangerous. Period. No questions asked.

I learn everything I don't already know. I even return to the knot-tying station on the third day and beam with pride at my improvement. I spend nearly all of the second day trying to master the art of camouflage, which I'm mediocre at best, and even compete in a spar or two against a trained Capitol man.

I'm so busy training and preparing myself mentally for what I'm going to have to do that I don't take time to acknowledge the fear.

For the first time, I feel that I could win.

That I won't just _fight_ to be the victor, but that I will be.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Katniss still isn't back from her day's activities. Effie has promised that she will be back before dinner, but it's been two hours since and neither Katniss nor Cyress have returned with my mentor. I don't know what this means, but it's got me worried sick.

There is not a doubt in my mind that things could go horribly south at any given time. She could be taken by Snow and forced to do something against her will, or she could simply trip on the sidewalk and crack her head open on the streets. It doesn't matter how trivial the reason for their delay; I will always worry when I can't see her.

Tomorrow is the day that I will be showing the Gamemakers what I can do. I know that I will choose the bow and arrows, that I will claim their attention with my best talent. Fleetingly, I remember a couple nights ago, after the opening ceremonies, when Katniss had mockingly pretended to shoot an arrow. The thought makes me smile.

I can only pace my room so much longer before I'm finding that I need air. The hall is dark when I leave my room, but I don't pause to think. Within a matter of minutes I have found a staircase that leads up onto the roof and I breathe deeply when I shove the door open and the night air blows the hair back from my forehead. Things start to feel clearer, my pulse slows. If I close my eyes and block all sounds of the bustling Capitol from my ears, I can almost imagine that I'm in the woods with Gale.

I walk to the railing and lean against it, looking out over the city and it's complete and surreal appearance. Even being a citizen of the lowest district on the scale, even growing up hating what the Capitol has done to 12, I can understand the beauty of the Capitol. It's glowing lights illuminate the sky, the chatter of people down on the street, which is bright as daylight, it's grandeur and it's size.

I'm still taking all of it in when I hear something shift behind me. I turn around slowly, thinking that maybe I'm in trouble because I've been caught in a place where perhaps I shouldn't be. Hands dropping to my sides defenselessly, I face the darkness and see the shape of a greenhouse just beyond where I walked in. A hunched figure sits on the ground inside with the plants and judging by the exact shape of the nose from a thin profile of a silhouette, I know exactly who it is.

"Vesna?" I say.

She sighs heavily and slumps down against the glass wall. "Sorry to disappoint you; I'm not your precious bread girl," she replies. She sounds as if she wants to be nasty about it, but her voice is defeated and dead. Despite this, I still can't help but wonder if this is just some sort of trick to make me believe her. It sucks. I don't know what to think.

"What are you doing up here?" I ask hesitantly. I won't approach the glass house; I'm scared that if I'll get too close, she'll cross lines and I don't want to hurt her anymore than I already have. I don't like hurting people, even if I don't like that person in particular.

"I hate you, you know," she says in a strong voice. "I don't get why you'd waste your time. She doesn't understand." She stands now and I don't know what to do because there really isn't anywhere to run and how do I respond to that? "I _do_, Peeta. I hate you, even though I _love_ you."

"Vesna," I say, holding my hands out in front of me, hoping that she'll stop her advancement as my back finds purchase against the railing. "Vesna, I don't want to do this. The Games start in three days and—."

"That's exactly why I had to tell you!" she exclaims. She reaches for my hands and entwines her fingers through mine. Her warmth is wrong and her words are setting me on edge. How much is true? Is any of it a ploy? "She doesn't understand you! Her smug ways, always sticking her nose up like she's better than us! She's not! Katniss' mother is a dirty Seam whore and—."

"What did you just say about my mother?" Katniss' voice comes from the direction of the door and she is staring at Vesna with such hatred that I'm surprised the girl doesn't drop down dead on the spot. Though she appears furious, my heart releases to see her looking as well and beautiful as ever, dressed in a pretty orange skirt and a white shirt that cinches at the shoulders.

Vesna steps away from me and squares herself toward Katniss. "I said she is a dirty. Seam. _Whore_."

I step forward to intercept Katniss before she can lunge at Vesna. My arms make a lock around her waist and I hold her to me, trying to calm her because the last thing we need is a fight. "Don't sink to her level," I say soothingly, my lips at her ear. "Don't let her get to you."

Of course, she ignores me completely.

"My mother isn't a whore!" Katniss screams, struggling against me. "She did what she had to do to survive after her parents died! My father saved her life! What about your mother? Flinging around the flower shop every other afternoon with Felders while your father is out 'doing business'? You think you can talk about my family like that? You don't!" I'm not doing my job well enough because she slips out of my hold just enough to scrape her fingernails across Vesna's face.

The townie girl stares at Katniss in shock as blood begins to trickle down her face, looks up at me, and then darts from the roof. Katniss sags against me before pushing me away and leaning against the railing of the rooftop, curling her hands over the bars as she examines the city. The lights from below light up her face enough to show me that she is still angry.

And it's ridiculous because after all that transpired between me and Vesna—the things she said to me—and all the things that will happen in the next few days, none of it feels real anymore. Being next to Katniss right now is the only thing that does. I'm so caught up in bread girl that I can't even function correctly; this is so very dangerous.

Hesitantly, I place my palm over her hand and step close enough to her that I can feel the warmth from her body, but not too far as to brush my shoulder against hers. "I was getting worried about you," I say softly.

The tension in her shoulders relaxes a little. "You say that everyday."

"That's because I worry about you everyday."

She looks at me sharply. "Don't think I can handle myself?"

I shake my head and work her white-knuckled grip off the bar slowly. "Of course you can, Katniss. You're very capable." _You are braver in ways that I'm not, stronger in ways that I'll never be. I love you. _"I just worry, because. . .well, because that's what you do when someone you care about is in a dangerous situation."

The fight that is still in her posture leaves her suddenly and she looks back out to the city. "I heard what Vesna said to you."

I'm wary and nervous now, because Vesna had said a lot of things. "How much of it?"

She's silent for a moment and all I can hear is the breeze as it blows against my face before she responds. "All of it."

My stomach drops and my heart jumps. "Oh."

"Yeah." Waiting for her to carry on is excruciating, and when she finally does I'm wishing she will stop, just so I won't feel my heart break. "I wish I hadn't."

Me too. I try to rack my mind and think of every word I'd said to Vesna but nothing comes to me. I'm too flustered to think properly. "I hope I didn't. . . .I mean, you know. . ."

Her hand in mine, she clutches it tighter and then leans toward me. "Who's your special girl, Peeta?"

Suddenly, it's like everything in me breathes again, though there is a trickle of disappointment. Katniss doesn't know that Vesna had been shouting about her all along. She doesn't know. I'm free to work up to it, just like I've been doing for the past eleven years of my life. When I finally spill it, I'm going to have to find a new hobby.

I can't help smiling. "It's a secret," I whisper near her ear. "She doesn't know it yet, either."

"You should have told her," she says in a small, defeated voice. "Before you left Twelve."

"I was going to," I admit. "But I'm a chicken."

She laughs a little at that idea and turns to me smiling. It's like Vesna and her nasty comment never existed at all. "Lucky for you, I like chicken."

"Yes," I say as I give her hand a squeeze, "Lucky me."

For a moment, I can almost forget that I'm a tribute in the Hunger Games and that the chances of my dying within the next week are probable. That my fellow tribute has declared her love for me. That no one is safe. It's just me and Katniss and the breeze.

For a moment, everything is perfect.


	10. Chapter 10: Katniss

PLEASE DON'T HATE ME FOR CHANGING THE NAME AND THE DESCRIPTION! Oh man. It was just bothering me so much because I felt like it wasn't exciting enough :P If I lose readers because of this, I'm so sorry to throw you all off! I hope you're not too mad!

Anyways, this is a bonus chapter for you A) because you are all awesome with your awesome reviews B) because I feel awful about switching things around on you D: C) because you're all so fluffing awesome and D) I did tell you that you guys were awesome, right?

I love you guys so much. You're all way too nice to me. I hope you enjoy your muchly appreciated chapter 10 (yep, that is a word in my book).

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**Ten: **_Katniss_

Haymitch calls me childish, but I insist that I'm only doing what any sensible person would do. Avoiding Vesna at all costs seems like the best plan I have, especially since just the mere thought of her makes me murderous. Effie says that she's appalled with my manners. I just tell her that I'm not a lady. That throws her for a loop.

"Just go away," I shout at the door from where I'm lying on my bed. They are standing on the other side of it, hovering, demanding that I have to come to breakfast since there are important matters to be discussed about today. "I don't care!" I tell them. It's mostly true.

After a few more moments of harassment, they finally understand that I'm not going to budge and there is silence in the hallway. I clutch my father's mockingjay pin closer to my heart as I stare up at the ceiling, trying to sort things out.

I'm more confused about last night than anything else in the world because I've learned that Vesna has been clinging to him for a reason. Of all the girls in District 12, why did she have to be the chosen girl? I might have stood a chance if she hadn't. . .A chance? For what? My thoughts are all over the place. I don't know what's come over me.

Then again, a tiny voice tells me that there never was a chance to begin with. Peeta has a girl back home. Some mystery girl who has probably been stuck to the screens like glue, willing him to do well, waiting for him to return. The thought makes my heart ache. For him. For his girl. For myself.

I wish that I could talk to Prim. My little sister always knows how to make me feel better and put a smile on my face, despite any circumstance. She'd know how to comfort me right now, if she knew what I was feeling and she'd say the right thing to help me find out what exactly it was. I miss her terribly, so I kiss the mockingjay and try to imagine what she would say, how my mother's arms would feel wrapped around me, the sound of my father's laugh as he overhears our conversation.

My eyes blink open abruptly when I hear a soft knock at the door. This alerts me that it's someone new and not Effie or Haymitch and my stomach sinks because I think I know exactly who it is.

"Katniss? C'mon. Open up." Why does he have to sound like that when he talks to me?

"No!" I say. "Go away!"

"You need to eat; Effie says you've got a bigger day than me."

"I don't care! I'm not hungry."

"Fine," he says, "then I'm not hungry either." There is a soft thunk and a plod and I understand that Peeta has taken a seat outside my door. I glare at the ceiling because he's making it difficult to be upset. "Just so you know, I'm not moving until you come out."

I roll my eyes because he can't do that. "You have your session with the Gamemakers before lunch."

"So?"

Huffing, I tumble off the bed ungracefully and make my way quickly to the door. He looks up startled when I rip it open. I almost smile but then I remember I'm irritated and scowling is easy. "You have no right to act like this," I say sharply.

His expression is immediately amused. "I can act whatever way I want if you insist on shutting yourself up in your room."

"No you can't," I tell him, shaking my head. "You're a favorite in the Capitol, Peeta. Everyone here knows that. If you don't show up today then. . ." I don't know what will happen, but I know it can't be good.

He flashes a grin as if the thought doesn't bother him. "Then I guess you'll just have to join us for breakfast."

My faces closes off instantly and I try to slam the door, but he shoves his back against it and he's too strong. "No," I spit.

Now he's exasperated. "Will you at least tell me why you won't come out?"

"Do you remember last night at all?" I ask bitterly.

Understanding dawns on his face through the gap in the door. "Vesna."

Saying her name to me sets me off. I throw the door open, which makes him tumble onto his back, and then I'm stomping down the hallway toward the dining room. A part of me acknowledges that I'm acting childishly but I can't really bring myself to care enough to fix it.

To my surprise, when I enter the room there is no one sitting at the table and servants are clearing the dirty plates off. I storm to a seat and plop down, shoveling food onto my plate. Voices carry from the showing room and I realize that the rest of 12's team is in there watching something on the screens.

Peeta arrives moments later as I'm stuffing a sweet, melting roll into my mouth. He comes to stand at the corner of the table and looks down at me. I studiously ignore him because. . .well, it's not just the fact he's mentioned Vesna to me that makes me angry. I'm angry at him, for not telling me the truth earlier. For leading me on when he has had a girl back home all along. Admitting that this is where my fury comes from is harder than smiling for the Capitol people.

A small, bitter pink fruit follows the sweet roll directly. I can't talk to him.

"Katniss—."

"Go away," I mutter around my mouthful of food.

"But—."

"I said, go away, Peeta."

He lingers for a few moments before he sighs and his fingers brush against the back of my hand. Then he's leaving the room, heading to the room with the screen and I'm left in peace. It doesn't feel much like peace, my thoughts are too jumbled for that, but at least I don't have to pretend anymore. As soon as I swallow the fruit, I start gulping down a cup of chocolate, cooled from sitting at the table for too long.

No one bothers me while I eat, and I'm grateful for it. The heat of my anger starts to cool off and I'm all too aware of how I must look to the others. I'm just pushing away my empty plate when Haymitch lumbers into the room and scowls at me.

"Finally decided to grace us with your presence, sweetheart?" he gripes.

I don't reply, but I do return the expression.

Effie prances in behind him and she immediately looks relieved to see me. "Oh good!" she exclaims. "Cinna is waiting for you down in your dressing room; you've got an interview this afternoon and he's ready to make you beautiful."

Since the Capitol has never allowed companions before, I have no idea what to expect and being told that I have an interview doesn't surprise me. Doesn't mean I'm comfortable with it, but the Capitol doesn't give choices to those of us from the districts. It demands and expects us to obey. That is what I must do to keep Peeta safe.

"Fine," I say, standing up and pacing to the elevator.

"Wait! Let me escort you!" she cries, chasing after me in her heels. I don't know how she walks in those things; I have a hard time just standing in them.

As we enter the elevator, I turn in time to see Vesna coming into the dining room. Peeta directly behind her, but she doesn't look at anything but the floor, her face a mask of red. Peeta looks up as the doors are closing, his face alarmed.

"Katniss?" he says and then he's gone and the lift is moving down.

Effie tries to start a few awkward conversations while we are on our way to see Cinna, but I only nod or murmur something that really doesn't need an answer. I'm excited to see Cinna because he's the only person I don't feel angry toward and I want to tell him about Peeta's girl, and about Vesna. And Prim. I want to tell him everything.

So when the elevator doors open, and I see about five other stylists waiting for their tributes and Cinna sitting on a bench alone, I run to him and throw my arms around him. He's been such a comfort for the past few days as he's prepared my clothes and makeup before I've gone out into a flurry of Capitol tours and sponsor hunts. This is no exception. As he returns my hug, arms winding around me, I can breathe a little easier.

"There's my favorite girl," he says, patting my back. The smile in his voice is evident. "I know you've missed me, but something tells me you don't give free hugs. What's on your mind?" He pushes me back and tilts my chin up to his face.

I take a deep breath. "It's a long story," I say.

He smiles. "I'm listening."

::::::::::

"Stop fidgeting," Haymitch grumbles, nudging me sharply with his elbow. He turns to Cyress and scowls. "Stand up straight, boy. You look like a lame dog. Keep your head up."

Cyress opens his mouth to no doubt shout some choice words at the victor, but Effie tuts at him as if she can read his mind. "Just because you're from District Twelve, doesn't mean you can act like it. Here in the Capitol, we restrain ourselves from being complete savages. It will serve you and your sister well to remember that, Mr. Drannels."

I feel my hands curl into fists at her words and I want to lash out at her but that won't accomplish anything. Anyway, I think that if I open my mouth I will lose my breakfast from this morning. Talking to Cinna has made me feel loads better about Peeta and Vesna, but nothing can cure the fear I have of walking out into a small stage audience and being interviewed on live national television. The personal interview I will have to face alone, before being with Peeta on the screens in a couple nights.

I forget about Peeta's secret girl and hold onto the fact that this is all about him. I'm doing this for him. Where was his girl when he was going to face the Capitol alone? She didn't jump on the train for him. I did. For him. This is all for him. Maybe if I can just remember that, the interview won't be so horrible.

Right now, he's at his personal session with the Gamemakers and I would rather be with him there than standing in the wings of a stage here. Effie keeps whispering things to me, reminding me of proper etiquette and Haymitch grumbles on about how important this is, how much is riding on the line. I tell them both I know what's at stake. It's Peeta.

The past few days, that's the only thing that has been able to get me up in the morning, knowing that I could be the difference between his life and death. I've gotten to know wealthy Capitol sponsors all too well, some of them clutching at any bare skin they can, some simply leering at me and pressing their faces so close to mine that I'm breathing in what they breathe out. Those are the men; uncouth, horrible beings that seem to treat me as if I am nothing but a pawn they can play with in a game. My stomach churns when I have to smile at their advances, when I have to pretend that it's alright they are so close to me.

Of all the things they can say and ask for in return for sponsorship, they are not allowed to ask for physical gratification from me. President Snow made that clear at his private dinner, which is another reason why I almost hit the green-haired man named Talik that night. However, if Peeta becomes victor, then I am tied to him forever as his companion. As far as I know, I'll be in the Capitol whenever he is. All bets are off. I'll do whatever it takes to keep Peeta alive, but I'm fiercely hoping it won't ever come to a point when I'm lying in a Capitol bed with one of my enemies naked beside me.

The women sponsors are different. They are not the least bit interested in me, its all about Peeta. How handsome he is, how tall he is, how friendly he his. Every word they say about him is true because he is all those things and it makes him very easy to be cared about. But they are offering sponsorship based on how well they think he will do in bed when he's a victor. They laugh and giggle as they discuss the different sizes of the victors like Finnick Odair. To say I'm appalled is putting it lightly; the blush and stammer never seem to leave me alone.

I can't do anything about it either. I have to play off of them and smile and laugh along because that's what Peeta needs me to do. There must be a way to protect him from a fate like I've learned belongs to Finnick. I'll find it. But first I must concentrate on keeping him alive in the Hunger Games. Keeping him unscathed and unscarred from the dirty doings of the Capitol can wait for later.

Caesar Flickerman is just finishing up with the companion from 11. I wonder if the hobbling old woman is for the girl or boy tribute, remember the tiny girl, and then hope that the woman is there for her. For a moment, hoping this makes my nausea disappear until Effie is whispering in my ear that it's my turn and Caesar is calling my name enthusiastically.

I freeze for a moment as my mind races. It's impossible to comprehend what I'm doing, especially since I have nothing to go off of from previous years, and I've never been a great speech maker. Somehow, in the fear that begins to immobilize me, I remember Peeta and then it doesn't seem so difficult.

The stage is large, and it takes me much too long to reach the sofa in the middle of it, but when I do, the live audience crowd is cheering at me and Caesar is laughing along. He reaches for my hand as I take a seat on the couch.

"Katniss Everdeen of District Twelve, nice to meet you," he says jovially. His blue hair is unsettling, but this powdery blue lips are the worst part. I manage a smile.

"Likewise," I say. My voice is much stronger than I thought myself capable of.

He's grinning at me now and though I try to concentrate on solely him, I feel the eyes of the cameras and the Capitol sticking to my bare legs, my uncovered arms. "You look a little shaken up. I suppose things are very different from Twelve here."

"Yes," I reply curtly. I'm kicking myself because I'm not giving Caesar much to go off of, but I'm mortified by the eyes and the murmurs and the cameras.

Caesar prods at me gently and for a moment I think I see a flash of understanding in his eyes. "Well, I'll say that tribute of yours is a looker. Bet he makes being here a little easier. Peeta Mellark."

Hearing his name makes me feel stronger. "Oh yes, Peeta. All the girls back home have been after him since birth." I try to laugh but it sounds too forced and strangled and I vow to myself never to do that again. Humiliation burns at my face and I'm praying that the cameras won't pick up on it.

"I'll bet! Who wouldn't go after that handsome young man?" Caesar turns to the audience, where many members are giving shrill catcalls and whooping. He laughs and his eyes cut back at me. "So you must be his girl then, huh? If he chose you to come with him to be a part of the Games?"

I shake my head violently, though a shiver of fear runs through me at his words. _If he chose you to come with him to be a part of the Games. _"Oh no, Caesar!" I exclaim. "Peeta isn't my. . .I mean, he's not. . ." The crowd laughs lightly at my flustered face and I collect myself for a moment before I continue, smiling sheepishly. "See, Peeta didn't actually ask me to come with him."

Caesar looks dramatically taken aback. He's good at this stuff. "He didn't? Well then, how ever did you end up here?"

I find myself blushing and staring at my knees. "He wasn't going to take anyone," I say, forcing myself to say these words because everyone deserves to know the goodness that Peeta has in him. Even if I want to keep the memory of that day only for me; the pain, the resolution, the certainty as I boarded the train. "He's always been. . .aloof. And he didn't want to have to drag anyone with him, especially since he knew no one would come _for_ him."

I'm saying too much. Too much. I bite my tongue.

Caesar leans forward on his elbows and looks at me eagerly as if I'm about to tell him the most important bit of information in the world. I try to focus on him and not the eyes out there, because talking to Caesar is easy. "So what happened?"

"I got on the train without telling him," I almost whisper, still blushing.

He begins to "aww" and the crowd follows suit. It doesn't nothing to relieve the heat eating away at my face. I want to run across the stage and throw myself into the wings. It takes every ounce of my self-control to not run away.

"Is it safe to say that someone has a crush on our District Twelve tribute?" he asks loudly, gleefully. Silence follows him. Everyone in Panem is holding their breath for my answer.

What will be best for Peeta? Denying it? Exaggerating it? I can't decide; I need more time and that's something I don't have. Without really knowing what else I can do, I'm responding. "Yes," I nod bashfully, "I. . .I think it is."

There is another split second of silence before there is a flurry of exclamations and shouts of encouragement my way. My smile feels forced as I turn my—hopefully—saddened expression toward them. They are surprised no doubt, but this has happened before. There just hasn't been anyone to prove it, until now.

Caesar smiles at me. "Well, does the young man know this?"

"Of course not," I say, fiercely and I can almost believe that everything I've said so far is the truth. Even though sometimes I get the feeling he just doesn't want me. Not here, in the Capitol. Not back home in 12. Not anywhere.

"If you could tell him anything in the world right now, what would it be?" The audience is quiet again, waiting for me to answer.

I take a deep breath and I tell myself to look at the camera and talk to it like its Peeta. Like he can hear what I'm going to say. "I'd tell him to remember the promise he made to me." I almost mention Prim but the very thought of my sister existing in a televised interview from the Capitol makes me sick to my stomach. No, I will keep her as far away from the Games as I possibly can.

The buzzer announcing that the next companion must come on rings and I almost jump straight out of my skin I'm so startled. Caesar and the audience pouts as I rise to leave.

"Well! I can honestly say that we all hope to see Peeta make it through the Games so you can tell him how you feel," he says graciously. He shakes my hand and we say goodbye and after a few more jokes and enthusiastic laughter, I'm wobbling off the stage as Cyress comes strutting out.

My head spins. How much of my words were true? How much were fake? Can't know, can't tell. All I can hope is that I've done enough to secure more sponsors than Haymitch and I could ever appeal to. Confusion swirls in me because I don't know what to think. I don't even know right from left. I'm not quite sure what I've just done.

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Cyress only gives very forward answers in his interview, gritting his teeth the whole time. I wonder if he's thinking of Effie's words and how much it is physically hurting him to hold back what he really thinks of the Capitol, of his sister being in the Games. I can at least respect him for acting civil enough to pass under the radar and cold enough to emphasize that he doesn't approve.

Haymitch isn't really sure what to say to me. He's spat a few strategies my way over the past few days, but none of them felt right to me. They might offer a little protection for Peeta, but not full coverage. I want him to be so safe that they could bomb the arena and he'd come out as pure as the day he was born.

Effie, of course, gushes and asks if it's true, that I want more than friendship with Peeta. To appease her—and because I truly don't know how to answer properly—I say yes on the condition that she keep it a secret from him. She grins as she makes the motion of locking a key at her lips and throwing it over her shoulder.

The interviews conclude with Caesar urging Panem to tune in later that night for the reveal of the training scores and then signs off, promising that they'd all see him in a few nights for the interview with the district tributes and their companions together. My team and I are at the back of the line of companions and victors, being 12, and we are forced to wait for the other districts to leave before we can get in our car and get back to the Training Center.

Anxiety eats away at me because I don't know how to explain it to Peeta, if he has seen the broadcast. I'm hoping he has missed it, and that I won't have to tell him until later. Until I know for sure what I meant up there, or at least, how it meant to me.

Cinna sidles up to us as District 5 is escorted into their vehicle. He drapes an arm across my shoulder and lifts his eyebrows at Haymitch.

"Didn't know that was part of the plan," he says to Peeta's mentor, who only shrugs.

"Me neither." He jabs a finger in my direction. "She's lucky she made a smart move. I've given up on trying to coordinate anything with her. She doesn't listen."

Cinna looks shocked, but mockingly so. "Katniss? Not listen? Why, that's absurd!" But he tweaks my nose with his fingers and kisses me on the forehead. "Portia and I have got to go make the final preparations for the interview in two nights. Perhaps we'll stop by for dinner."

"That would be lovely," I admit, smiling at him.

He returns the expression. "You were wonderful out there. If I were you, I'd have a talk with Haymitch about his attitude; you are much more charming than he gives you credit for."

"He called me a dead slug the other day," I recall, and it almost makes me angry all over again. That hadn't particularly been a good conversation. Haymitch was trying to tell me to flirt it up and be a little desirable when talking to sponsors and when I tried—half-heartedly and bitterly, I might add—he had disgraced me with the horrendous insult. I might be a lot of things, but a dead slug is not one of them.

Cinna leans close to my ear, whispering, but it's loud enough that Haymitch can hear. "He was cursing about Vesna the other day. Something about her having the wit and charm of a rotting carcass. I'd count your blessings; you're obviously his favorite girl, too."

I roll my eyes as Haymitch grumbles that he doesn't have favorites. Cinna gives me one last kiss—on the temple this time—and then he's melting away into the crowd to find Portia. Now that he's gone, all I can think about is Peeta and nerves wrack my stomach. When he sees me in this modest green dress, will he also see the words I've spoken on my face? Will he understand the confusion in my eyes?

I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I close my eyes as we are whisked into our car and think of Prim, and how much I wish I could talk to her to figure these things out.

To figure me and Peeta out.


	11. Chapter 11: Peeta

Yipes! The Games are getting closer! Are you guys as excited as I am?

So it's Friday and here is your weekly chapter. I've only got through 12 written because it's been so hectic but this week is my Spring Break. Maybe I'll get a couple written within the next week. Cross your fingers!

Thank you to all my readers and reviewers. I'm appalled by all the people who have added this story to their alerts; I'm glad you like it! I just wish I had more of your opinions on what you thought. I love hearing your thoughts! Feel free to tell me anything, even if it isn't all sugary sweetness, okay?

Love you guys. Enjoy Chapter 11!

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**Eleven**: _Peeta_

My face is buried in my pillow, hands gripping at my hair, as I try to keep my breathing under control. What is wrong with me? Why would I have done that? It takes so much for me to lose my temper and fly off the handle; Gale is the one that is hot-headed. Katniss is the one who can't hold her tongue. I've always prided myself on being amiable, despite my violent upbringing. Between the days of labor-intensive hunting and abuse at the hand of the Witch, I've been through more than just any person in 12.

It is the _inaction _that gets to me. Like when the Witch lies in a drunken stupor, too wasted to move. Like when the Gamemakers clucked and gazed at their cooked pig more than they did me.

I groan into my pillow in frustration. It would have been bad enough to have called out at them, speaking when the tribute should never speak. To shoot an arrow through the apple in the pig's mouth? I may have as well told the Gamemakers to kill me on the spot. I'll be dead before the bloodbath at the Cornucopia even begins.

They'll probably trigger one of the mines to blow me to pieces and call it an accident. Whoops.

I hear footsteps moving down the hall and then my head is out of my pillow. The tread is much too light to be Effie in her heels, or Haymitch with his lumber, or Cyress who has a tendency to stomp when he moves. Vesna has been holed up in her room since she got back from her session and I know she's taking a nap, so it can't be her. As I close my eyes and move for the door, heart jumping, I can almost hear the sigh of the silk as it swishes around a pair of legs.

Just as I'm reaching the door and before I can pull it open, the footsteps are coming close to my door. I hold my breath and press my ear against the wood, wondering if I'm right, if it's who I want it to be. She seems to be standing in front of my door, and then she huffs. I listen for a moment as her footsteps move back and forth across my door and after a while I need to see her again. I feel like I haven't seen her in ages.

I pull the door open and Katniss stops mid-stride. Her face is as red as a berry in the summer and she refuses to meet my eyes. I try not to let it register that a lot of skin is exposed, that it all looks so smooth to the touch, that its probably hot with her blush; I try to ignore how beautiful she is, and how much I want to make her believe the same thing.

As usual, my heart swells at the sight of her, but the initial release of seeing her again is quickly dominated by confusion. She looks embarrassed as all else and I'm not sure why.

"You okay?" I ask hesitantly.

She stares at my shoulder. "You. . .you didn't watch my interview, did you?" My stomach sinks. Her interview! I've been so caught up in my private session with the Gamemakers that I completely forgot about her interview! Impending death is an acceptable distraction, I suppose, but I didn't forget about just any girl's interview. I forgot about Katniss.

"I. . ." I think about lying for a moment, but then sigh in defeat and hang my head. "No."

To my surprise, she seems relieved, though the blush doesn't leave her face. "Good."

"You're not mad I missed it?"

"No!" she exclaims. "I mean, no. Why would I be mad? It was all for the Capitol, anyway." If possible her face turns an even brighter shade of red and I find myself reeling with confusion. Why in the world is she so embarrassed? "Can I come in?"

"Of course!" I step back and motion in and she hesitates for a moment before heading straight for the bed. She sits on the end of it, her back straight as she looks at me and yet finds a way to completely avoid looking at me. I close the door and try to clear my head so that maybe I can think of anything that had happened lately, but I come up blank.

"How did your session go?" she asks abruptly, playing uncharacteristically with her hands. She's never this fidgety. Something must really be getting at her.

The mention of my session makes my stomach turn over. I don't think I'll be eating supper tonight. "I made a mistake, Katniss."

Her eyebrows draw in and she meets my eyes for the first time. "What happened?"

I should tell her but I'm afraid that she'll see me differently. Maybe she'll think that I've got too much in common with the Witch, that I have control issues, that I'm unstable. She's only known me—really _known_ me—for two short weeks. It doesn't matter that we spent nearly every hour of those fourteen days together; it doesn't matter when the woman who brought me into this world—who, unfortunately, has passed half of her genes onto me—is a psychotic, violent person.

"I shot an arrow," I say uneasily as I lean against the wall.

She frowns and tilts her head to the side. "Well, you've been shooting arrows since you were five." She can remember that far back? She remembers that?

It doesn't matter. I shake my head and clear my throat. "I shot it at the Gamemakers. Their pig."

I expect her to be incredulous, maybe throw some things around or run out of the room screaming about how stupid I am and how much she wishes she'd never gotten on that Capitol train.

She doesn't.

No, of all the reactions I'm waiting for, it's the one I don't predict that she gives me.

She begins to laugh. "You shot an arrow at the Gamemakers? Oh Peeta!"

_I'm_ incredulous. "You think this is funny?"

Katniss leans back on her hands, laughter peeling out of her mouth, her shoulders moving with the force. I wonder how much of her is truly entertained; if there isn't some emotional type of hysteria running it's course. "Of course it's funny! I mean, it was stupid of you. Completely and utterly stupid. But funny." She smiles at me. "I wish I could have seen the looks on their faces!"

My lips twitch as I remember. "One guy fell back into a punch bowl and ruined the whole feast."

Her smile fades slightly as her face hardens and I wonder what she's thinking about. "Good."

I shake my head and push away from the wall to take a seat next to her on the bed. "You don't think they're going to kill me for that?"

She frowns. "Doubt it. They might put you through hell in the arena, but they won't kill you."

"Because that's so much better." I roll my eyes. "All of that work you've been doing about sponsorship is probably all screwed up now, because of that arrow. They'll give me a bad score for my session."

She looks at me with those eyes of hers and in this moment I'd give anything to know what she thinks of me. Her voice is slightly bitter when she speaks. "Not all of the work. Half the women in the Capitol could care less about your abilities or skills. They only see how pretty you are."

I bark a short laugh. "Ha. Yeah right."

I'm surprised when she looks serious as she shakes her head. "No. Don't underestimate yourself, Peeta. You act the way you do around Prim and the audience will be sold on you interview night, regardless of anything I might say or do," she says with a flattering amount of sincerity. "You'll have them eating out of the palm of your hand. They will all be after you. Everyone will want to sponsor you."

When she says things so honestly—like she's speaking straight to my heart, straight out of hers—I can't help it that my filter turns off and my eyes wander. Cinna has dressed her in another gorgeous number that does wonderful things for her slender body. I lean toward her, her shoulder settling into the hollow of mine. Her skin is hot, even though my shirt.

"You look beautiful," I say, because she has to know this. My skin feels tight, burning, sparks of electricity flashing across it's surface.

Instead of turning away as she usually does, her face pulls back to look at me. She's smiling, her cheeks red. We are so close that I'm sure she can hear the way my heart throws itself against my rib cage, the shortness of breath I'm trying to steady.

"Cinna does wonders, doesn't he? The dress is my favorite color," she tells me. Her eyes focus so deeply on mine, as if she knows every thought I've ever had and is somehow trying to tell me so. "Green. Like the trees."

It occurs to me that maybe prior to coming to the Capitol, she spent her afternoons staring out at the apple tree in her backyard, where I sat everyday under those deep green leaves. Wondering what I was doing. I want to know how to get closer to her but I'm at a loss. I've never been so close to having her know about my true feelings; it's terrifying in the most thrilling way possible.

"It's a good color," I agree, and then boldly, my fingers brush along her exposed collarbone. Heat sears through me and I have to pretend that it's nothing; have to, because I can't ruin this. I want to tell her that Cinna has nothing to do with her beauty, that she's always been beautiful, no matter the time or circumstance, but I'm terrified. Being so far in love with Katniss without her knowing it is to be in a different kind of game. Dangerous, but not deadly. Never deadly.

She doesn't shy away from my touch, like I expect her to. "What's your favorite color?"

"Orange," I say with a smile, remembering those days in the woods with Gale, with our fathers. It was the only time in my life that I could forget about the Seam and the life I led there. The only time that things felt wholesome. "Like a sunset."

She watches my face carefully and I wonder if she can read the memories through my expression. "With the bakery hours, I've never really seen a sunset before."

"It's the purest form of beauty in this world," I tell her with a sort of dream-like quality. "Sunsets and rivers and mountains."

I feel, rather than hear, her sigh against me. "Prim loves the sky. She's always pointing out the sun and watching the birds fly. In the summertime, when she can't sleep and if there's been a storm, she'll pull me outside and we'll lay out just beyond our apple tree and look at the stars. You know how rain always clears away the coal dust in the air. She makes pictures out of the stars, and then asks me to make up a story with her pictures." Her voice fades by the end of the sentence and I can tell that sadness has consumed her. I wonder what it must feel like to have a waiting family back home. I have Gale, but he'll survive without me. If things go wrong in the arena.

Without thinking it through, I reach for her hand and hold it tightly. She turns a little toward me and I try to straighten, thinking she wants distance, but I'm surprised when she places her forehead against the warm skin of my neck. I bet she can hear my pulse hammering. "You should have stayed with her, Katniss," I tell her softly. "You're completely miserable about being here."

"Yes," she replies. "I should have." She cuts off abruptly so I know that she has more to say. I wait for her to say it, because I know she needs time. After a moment or so, she settles more comfortably against me and wraps her arms around my middle. I wonder if this is her answer.

I hug her in return, reveling in the moment. I've forgotten completely about my training session, forgotten that in just a few days I'll be fighting for my life. Only Katniss could do that, could make me forget my own name.

"I'm not _completely_ miserable, Peeta." She sounds ashamed, and her voice is softer than I think I have ever heard it.

Admittedly, though I'm slated to enter the Hunger Games, I'm not either. Her skin burns through the silky fabric of her dress and into my hands, where they are itching to ball up the material and bring her closer than she's ever been before. Heat races through me. I must do something. Hesitantly, I kiss her temple, and then the other one. My heart pounds and I must control my breathing.

She is still in my arms when my lips leave her head. I don't know what is going through her mind, but she isn't pulling away, which I take to be a good sign. I'm tempted to keep going, to see how she receives me, but I won't do that to her. If I'm ever going to kiss her, she will be the one to make the first move. Not me. I've waited for this girl for eleven years of my life; I can wait eleven more if I have to.

Her head tilts and then her upper lip is pressed to my throat, her breath blowing across my skin hot and sticky. My hands flex against her back and her arms squeeze around me tighter. Can't breathe.

"Katniss," I almost squeak. She doesn't move. "I. . .you should know that. . .well, that even though I never wanted to bring anyone to the Capitol with me. . .I'm glad you're the one here with me."

There.

I've said it. . . .

Not really, but it's a start.

If possible, she holds me tighter. "I couldn't stand the thought of you being here alone. Peeta?"

"Yes?"

"Why didn't your girl do what I did? Jump on the train for you?"

Her voice is so quiet that I think I may have misunderstood. When I realize what she's said, my brain races and I don't know how to answer her. What does she want to hear? Either way, I won't outright lie to her; not when she's the girl I'm crazy about. It would be totally wrong to tell her that my girl was too afraid, because my girl is braver than anyone I've ever know. I swallow, because I see what I have to do.

"Katniss," I start. I don't know how much more of this I can take without keeping my distance. She's so close, and she looks so pretty and she smells so _good_. . . "I've been trying to tell you this. . .well, for a long time." A _really_ long time. "And you should know—."

The banging on the door makes both of us jump but we don't pull away as quickly as we might have a few days before. Lazily and hesitantly, I untangle myself and Katniss straightens against me. My mind races because I have come so close to telling her; so close. She stares at me, but we both know our privacy has run it's course and that she won't be getting her answer. The only thing left touching are our hands, which cling and clasp on the sliver of empty bed space between us.

"What?" I call out, because this is my room. My heart is still pounding so hard it almost hurts.

"Dinner!" Effie chimes excitedly. "Hurry, hurry, hurry! Don't want it to get cold!"

Katniss rolls her eyes when I turn to her. "There is something about her that makes me want to do the complete opposite of what she says."

I laugh and pull her off the bed. "You feel that way about everything, in most cases." But I can't deny it either; Effie's general demeanor makes me feel similarly.

Katniss scoffs, but she doesn't contrast my statement. My cheeks hurt from smiling so hard, and though I'm still too nervous about my score—not to mention Katniss' proximity—to eat any food, I lead her down the hall to the dining room.

Vesna smiles automatically as we walk into the room, but this smile isn't meant for me. It's directed at Katniss, who scowls in the girl's direction through the clinks of the kitchenware.

"Hello, Katniss," Vesna says sweetly. She sounds dangerous, so I take an empty seat far away from her and Katniss sits next to me. Both of us thank the server gently as he places plates of brightly steaming things in front of us but we're both watching Vesna as if she is a poisonous snake about to bite.

"What do you want?" Katniss asks sharply as she picks up her fork.

"Nothing really," Vesna replies as she nibbles on a piece of creamy chicken. "I just wanted you to know how interesting your interview was today. Thrilling for sure. Did you see it Peeta?"

Katniss' face turns purple, which is kind of cute and also disturbing since I've never seen her so embarrassed before. Is she breathing? I still don't understand why she's so sensitive about her interview with Caesar Flickerman this past afternoon, but Vesna has no place taunting Katniss. I mean, really. What did Vesna do to impress the pig-obsessed Gamemakers? Whine and pout? Throw a tantrum? Say something stupid?

"No, I didn't," I say slowly. I look around at the other faces. Effie is fidgeting, looking as if she's about to burst, giggling into her hand already. Haymitch gruffly spoons a cold lamb soup, as if no one else in the room exists but himself. Cyress is rolling his eyes at me, but he gives a meaningful glance at Katniss who now has her face in her hands.

"Too bad," Vesna continues in a sort of voice that is so sweet it almost makes my teeth ache. "She said some pretty fascinating stuff. Didn't 'cha, Katniss?"

Katniss rips her hands from her face and I feel uneasy when I see one of them clench around a knife lying by her still untouched plate. "I hope your death is as painful as it is public," she snarls.

Vesna laughs, and the sound is cold, but her eyes linger on me, like they always do. "Goodness. All of this over a few words." She pokes her fork at Katniss. "Well? Aren't you going to tell him?"

I look between the girls and then to Haymitch for a little assistance. "Tell me what?" I mouth at him.

He rolls his eyes and looks pointedly at Katniss. I still don't get it, and it seems to frustrate him. "I'm just gonna _make my move_ on into the sitting room. Scores will be showing soon. I expect all of you to be there." He leaves the room, but this emphasized words ring in my head.

_Make my move_.

Is he trying to tell me that I should confess everything to Katniss? Haymitch has known since day one about me and Katniss; even if he hadn't heard it from me he'd probably have picked it up in the Hob. Gossip is about as present in the old broken down warehouse as coal dust.

No, that can't be it. Haymitch is a bad mentor; he never tries to tell me anything. At all.

"If you won't tell him, I will," Vesna says brightly. How can she play up the innocence? If Cyress hadn't warned me about her, I never would have believed that she was doing this to hurt Katniss; I would have thought that Vesna is only saying these things because she's too stupid to know her place.

Everything happens in a flash. One moment, Katniss has her hand curled around the handle of a knife, and the next, it's flying through the air, sticking into the wall just inches from Vesna's face. The townie has a look of total horror and shock on her face as she stares wide-eyed at Katniss, who looks partially satisfied. My stomach does a little flip, but I don't know what emotion it is. I knew Katniss was good with knives; I didn't know she is this good. I'm trying to think of where she could have possibly learned when I remember that her mother is from the Seam—a woman who also happened to be handy with knives back in the day.

Effie is just as appalled as Vesna, and seems to be just as speechless. Cyress, however, is temperamental enough to offer up a few curse words before the scolding begins.

"Are you crazy?" he screams at Katniss, red-faced as he pushes away from the table and looms over her. "Are you trying to kill my sister?"

Katniss is calm and stony as she glares back up at Cyress. "If I wanted her dead, she would be right now."

"That's my sister!" he shouts and then he's lunging at her. She ducks away easily, but rage coils in me because he's trying to hurt my girl. That doesn't sit well with me.

"You're going to want to think twice about doing that," I mutter darkly as I rise to my feet. I'm impressed by my voice; since when did I get so threatening?

Cyress glares at me and I can tell he's about to let the fists start swinging, when the elevator dings and the doors slide open quickly to reveal Cinna and Portia. Both of them step off the lift, looking between all the offensive and defensive stances. Vesna, wide-eyed and unmoving, Katniss as scowling and purple as I've ever seen her, Cyress looking ready to blow a crater in the Capitol, and me. I'm not quite sure what I look like.

It must be bad because Cinna raises his eyebrows. "What is going on here?"

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"I still can't believe it," I say. The wonder and unexpected rush of relief that had hit me last night still lingers and I have a hard time pushing it away. Haymitch has heard me say this ten times too many, and I think he's getting sick of it, but I'm running on hardly any sleep and too much Capitol energy.

"Believe it, boy," he grumps. "An eleven in training. Whoop-dee-do." A small flask makes its way to his lips and I exchange a look with Katniss. He had said he'd be done with alcohol for the Games, but I guess you can't quit cold turkey when the past twenty four years of your life have been spent watching children die.

"Can we just get on with this?" Katniss asks impatiently. Both of us are on edge from the interview presentation etiquette we had just finished with Effie. Every word out of that Capitol woman's mouth had praised me and also found a way to scold Katniss. Katniss' lasting bitterness is exhausting and it can only go downhill from here, with Haymitch in the room.

The interviews are tomorrow and Katniss and I have requested that we be trained separately from the Drannels. It makes me nervous, despite being glad that I don't have to be in their presence all day. Cyress has blatantly told me that Vesna is dangerous, and now that I have no contact, I can't monitor her actions or words. She's gone past dangerous; she's lethal now. I have no idea what she's going to pull out of her sleeve tomorrow night.

At least Katniss will be there. Just knowing that she is sitting next to me right now makes me feel better.

"Alright then," Haymitch growls, twisting the cap onto his flask and putting it in his jacket pocket. "I'll ask the questions. Show me what I'm working with."

For the next four hours, there is more arguing than actual training going on. Katniss and Haymitch holler over the smallest things and while it's easy to understand how much they dislike each other, it's also transparent that they are close. Closer than I am to our mentor, at least.

I sit and wait out their yelling, and when Katniss is too heated to respond, Haymitch ignores her and focuses on me. It's grueling and slow-going, and progress is too small to be properly evaluated. By the time the four hours are up, Haymitch rolls his eyes and heaves himself to his feet, flask in hand.

"I've no qualms about you, kid," he says to me gruffly before jabbing the flask toward Katniss. "But you. You've been doing this for days now, sweetheart. Get over that interview from yesterday and get your head in high gear. His life is on the line."

"I know!" she spits at him, hands clenched at her sides. "Don't think I'm not trying because I am!"

"You're not trying hard enough!" he yells. He storms from the room with a surprisingly steady foot and then the door is slamming behind him and I'm left alone with an extremely angry Katniss.

I get up from my chair and go to her, trying to be whatever she needs me to. "Katniss?"

She looks at me sharply and I'm shocked to see that her eyes look watery. "I wish you wouldn't _do_ that!" And then she's gone so fast that I have no time to process what has just happened. I blink, staring at the shut door, left wondering what it is I've done wrong and how I can fix it before I'm thrown into the arena.

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I've never been more struck by Katniss' beauty than I am now, as she emerges from her dressing panel with Cinna in tow. Whatever Vesna has been saying flies over my head because nothing she says can possibly draw my attention from Katniss. Our stylists have dressed us alike, my suit flashing slightly like sparks from a fire, and her dress sparkles like flames licking up her body; gems of blue, orange, and red—even yellow—set her body ablaze.

As beautiful as Vesna looks in a garment that swoops low on her neck with a deep, plunging V in the back, swirling with musky reds and grays like coal smoke; even with the kohl smudged around her eyes, the intricacy of the overlapping hairdo, the flawless texture of her skin. . .even with all of this, Vesna is nothing.

Katniss averts her eyes from mine as I approach her. It is just an instinct when I reach out and tilt her head back, finding a slight coloring of her cheeks. "You look absolutely breathtaking," I say in a low voice. I'm not sure why I am so brave right now, but Katniss hasn't said a word to me since the interview training went so horribly yesterday. Maybe it's because I need her to know.

And she will.

Tonight.

Cinna leans into her ear with a smile and says, "Told you," before making himself scarce.

"Cinna really does know what he's doing, huh?" she says. I can tell it's uncomfortable for her, that I'm forcing her to look at me but she has to know that Cinna has nothing to do with it. I mean, yes, this dress is pretty, but it's how Katniss wears it.

"No," I shake my head. "No, Katniss. _You_ are beautiful. Not the dress. _You_."

Her eyebrows furrow in confusion as the back of my hand sweeps along her jaw line, but a pretty little blush splotches across her cheeks. "I don't understand you," she says softly.

She will. "I'm really not that hard to figure out," I reply just as gently, a smile lifting my lips.

Haymitch steps up beside me and nudges my shoulder with a flask. Big surprise. "Time to fall in line."

I nod at him and then hold my arm out for Katniss. We will be making our presentation together tonight and this will be the most personal we will ever get to the Capitol. I want them to know that my heart belongs to someone, and even if she doesn't know it, they will.

Vesna hasn't made eye contact with Katniss since she got a knife thrown at her head, but the girl turns around in the line as we approach and smiles at me. Every time she smiles, and I see that expression in her eyes, I can't help but wonder: how much of it is the truth and how much of it is she willing me to believe?

"I'd wish you luck," she says kindly, "but you don't really need it."

Despite everything, I must be civil to her. I'm not the Witch. "Thank you, Vesna. I'm sure you'll do great."

"I know," she tells me. Her voice is so sure that I feel apprehensive. Katniss has been right from the beginning, I now realize. Vesna is most definitely planning something, and it's not going to be pretty. For anyone involved.

Katniss tightens her grip on my arm and I can't help but smile. "I hope she falls off the stage to her death," she mutters at me as the line is moved forward. The Capitol anthem can be heard blasting through the walls and Caesar Flickerman is enthusiastically naming off the tributes and their companions as we are ushered in.

"She isn't worth the time," I say under my breath. I can feel my heart pounding dramatically through my chest and I feel like I might explode with nerves and anticipation. Even with Katniss, it's clear to me that I can't wait to be back at the Training Center, even if that means the coming morning is that much closer.

I feel her arm tighten around me even more and I squeeze back. "Remember Prim," she whispers. The District 11 boy—Thresh—is being swept out on stage.

"Remember me," I say.

She looks up at me, startled, and I'm again taken aback by how beautiful she is. Vesna and Cyress are pushed onto the stage.

"Always," she whispers.

"Always," I echo. There is no more time to think; the stage is ours now. Lights blind us but we fix our faces so that we are smiling and I realize as we walk toward our designated seat on the far side of the stage that we are the only couple making contact. All other tributes and companions keep their distance, as if showing the connection they have is dangerous to broadcast on TV. Maybe it is and maybe I just don't care anymore.

Caesar greets us happily and then insists we take our seat, winking at Katniss whom the crowd cheers for. I give her a quizzical look, but she avoids my eye contact and that's when I know that this reaction—from both her and the Capitol—are results of her previous solo interview just a few days before.

The interviews are lengthened to five minutes per pair to allow extra time for both the tribute and the companion. Time drags and when I know for certain that there are no cameras on us, I squeeze Katniss reassuringly. I'm not sure who needs the comfort more, but judging from how weak my knees feel, I'm guessing it's me.

Most of the tributes seem to be playing the truthful card. Cato, the boy from 2, flexes his arms at the audience and boisterously insists that sponsorship will be a good investment for him. The crowd eats it up; he will be the tribute this year that will literally do anything to win. Besides being a Career tribute, he is a clear Capitol favorite.

There aren't very many other people that stick out. The red-head from 5 is noticeably clever, and the girl from 1—Glimmer, I think is what Caesar calls her—inadvertently poses for the crowds in her shimmering gold dress, clinging and transparent. Thresh is silent and ominous, answering in a very straight-forward manner. A decrepit old woman with deeply lined, dark skin watches him proudly from her spot as his companion. Rue—the girl from 11 that looks so much like Prim—is alone, and her interview is heartbreaking.

"So what's a pretty little gal doin' here by yourself?" Caesar asks as he crouches down in front of her chair.

She smiles a little and smoothes her hands along the draping dress she is wearing. "I didn't want my family to get hurt," she says in such a determined voice that it's hard to believe she's twelve, tiny stature or not.

All too soon, Vesna is being called up with Cyress, who acts like he always does. Vesna's face lights up and I can tell that she's been looking forward to this part.

"Vesna," Caesar says after the initial introductions have been made and a few jokes have been cracked. The audience is still wiping tears from their eyes. "Tell us what it's like back home. Family. Friends. A special guy." He does a wink-wink nudge-nudge gesture that gets the crowd going again.

"Cyress is my brother," Vesna says happily, reaching for him. He shows no emotion, and as sketchy as the guy can be, I have to give him props for his resistance against the whole system. "He and I have been together, since, like, birth."

There are a few chuckles, but the joke is poor. Judging by the look on Vesna's face, it wasn't meant to be a joke at all. "As for friends," she continues with a smile directed at Caesar, "I've always had plenty of those."

"Go on," he says with a hand motion.

"Well," she takes a deep breath and then my heart jumps when she looks over her shoulder where Katniss and I are sitting so close that a piece of paper couldn't be squeezed between us. "You know Peeta."

Caesar laughs. "Indeed we do!"

"Yeah," she says, "well, Peeta's always been a great guy. I mean, for real. He does things that some people don't realize. That some people don't deserve." She had the Capitol going for a while, but when her voice drops into a disdainfully bitter accent, she has lost them.

"Uh oh," Caesar says, motioning at the audience with a ridiculous face, "looks like somebody is a little sour. What's that about?"

"What do you think it's about?"

His blue eye brows nearly go up to his blue hair. "Elaborate for us, please!"

I'm so engrossed, my heart pounding so quickly, that I'm completely unaware that Katniss has a death grip on my hand.

Vesna sighs longingly, as if to recover her standing with the citizens and looks mournfully at Caesar. "I'm sort of in love with Peeta, but it doesn't matter. Not to him at least. He's in love with somebody else."

Nothing could have prepared me for this. Katniss draws in a sharp breath and I realize that maybe it's the first time she has heard Vesna express her feelings for me in so many words. It's not like I didn't know because I did. What I don't know is that she's about the turn the Games upside down.

That she's about to turn me inside out.


	12. Chapter 12: Katniss

SURPRISE CHAPTER! Mwah aha ha!

You guys have been really good to me; 34 reviews for the last chapter in just a couple of days! Wow! That's like, half the amount of reviews I have on my other 10 chapter HG story alone! It's also the most reviews I have on any chapter right now, so I totally think you guys deserve this new chapter. Besides; I've been dying to get this one out to you.

Let's just say its my favorite so far (:

Also, I may or may not be getting chapter 13 out to you on time Friday; it's mostly probable because I'm on spring break, but mehh. Things happen.

Anyways, enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think! You are all so awesome!

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**Twelve**: _Katniss_

No. No, it can't possibly be true. Vesna have feelings for Peeta? _My_ Peeta? Vesna doesn't have feelings for anything! She could care less about her own brother; her own flesh and blood! I can't accept this; I won't. My mind spins as I try not to shoot out of my chair to strangle Vesna. I'm seeing red, gritting my teeth, clenching my fists. How dare she do this to him!

There is a collective hush among the crowd because no such romantic notions have ever graced the Games before and this is a first; and how many of them recall the words I said on air the other day? I feel my heart beat fast in my chest and I wonder if everyone in Panem can hear how hard it is pounding. Caesar glances my way, no doubt remembering my last interview. My words ring clearly in my head as I try to focus on a way to keep the emotion from my face.

It is hard to keep the anger in check, to keep any tinge of despair from coloring my expression because the Capitol can't know how much this affects me. Peeta's reassuring solidity beside me—stiff and tense—tells me that he is having similar thoughts to me. Everything about his posture tells me he does not approve. He does not reciprocate. This is bad. Wrong.

The buzzer signaling Cyress and Vesna's time is up and the Caesar is murmuring apologetic words into the microphone. Dread clutches in my chest, reaching and trying to trap my heart in it's vice. I can almost feel the audience's eagerness to have me and Peeta center-stage and I hold onto him tightly as we are reintroduced and brought forward to Caesar.

There are no pleasantries. Five minutes is all the Capitol will have with us. Five minutes is all I have endure to keep from splitting apart. These will be possibly the longest five minutes of my life.

Caeser claps his hand on Peeta's shoulder. "Let's cut to the chase. You've heard your fellow tribute. What is going on in your head right now? Who's the lucky girl? I'm sure we're all dying to know!"

Peeta is still tense, but he seems to pull tighter than a taut line of his bow as he glances at me from the corner of his eye. "What's going on in my head? Gee, Caesar, I have no clue. Why don't you tell me?"

Caesar laughs and the audience chuckles too, but they are all sitting on the edge of their seats. I am too, for that matter. "I am but a humble TV host!" he jests. "Come now. You must be thinking _something_."

My heart leaps when Peeta looks at me, completely turning away from the cameras and the crowd and I can see how scared he is. His expression tells me he knew about Vesna's feelings, but he hadn't expected this; never this. This is bad. If we don't play this right, then Vesna will have the Capitol behind her one-hundred percent and Peeta will be left out in the cold. Where does he go from here? What is his best shot at survival? I don't know, I don't know.

The exchange between us isn't lost on Caesar and suddenly the microphone is being thrust toward my mouth. "Katniss. You look stunning tonight; your stylist has really outdone himself. We all know what you said last time, but surely this is news to you! Tell us what you think!"

I don't smile at the camera; why would I be happy? I'm not and the Capitol doesn't expect me to be. "I think that Peeta's girl is obviously lucky." I swallow a hard lump of fear in my throat and let myself continue, hoping that he'll give me time for explanation later. "Two District Twelve girls vying for his affections in the Capitol and he's still holding onto her."

Peeta appears startled and he looks at me. "What?" he exclaims.

My face turns red as the audience begins to cheer loudly. Caesar nudges me. "So you didn't clue him in at all, eh?"

"Not a bit," I force myself to respond in a clear voice.

I'm too scared to look at Peeta since I never wanted him to know I said those things; I don't know how deep or true they are, but right now, I'm too confused to even consider it, especially since Vesna is trying to claim him as her own. But neither one of us has a right to him; Peeta has a girl and I must respect that. At least my confession has tipped the scales away from Vesna's favor, right? After tonight, there won't be a single soul left in the Capitol who won't be rooting for Peeta in the arena. I know this without a doubt.

And while it's terrifying to have everything out there, in front of a public audience no less, at least I've accomplished my goal. Get Peeta sponsors. Do whatever it takes to keep him alive in the arena. At least there is this.

"Katniss," Peeta says. My heart skips a beat but I must ignore it. Anger still seethes in my system, waiting to lash out. His voice booms all around the room as the crowd goes wild with despair and excitement. There hasn't been such drama at the Hunger Games since it's first year, no doubt. Caesar is suspiciously quiet and I can't help but silently urge the clock on faster, willing the five minutes to soon be up.

I do wish Peeta wouldn't say my name like that, not when he's someone that I can never have.

"I hope you understand," I say, struggling to remain intact. He deserves better than this; I'm no better than Vesna, blurting this out for all of Panem's incredulous ears.

"Got anything to say, Peeta?" Caesar asks jovially and I can just tell, even as I try to avoid all eye contact with absolutely everything and everyone, that he's thrilled to be the one to crack this emotional tangle of District 12 out in the open.

Peeta squeezes my hand but I still can't look at him. I should be so much stronger than this, but I'm not and it frustrates me. I focus on a point in the distance and force myself to breathe in a regular pattern. I must keep my cool, must not fly to pieces. So much easier said than done.

"Yeah, Caesar, I do," Peeta says. "My girl isn't in District Twelve."

My heart stops and I swear I can't make sense of his words. I don't know what happens next. The stage is so quiet that I can hear my own breaths coming, and then there is a flurry of action and words and Caesar is demanding that Peeta tell us what this means. I'm too afraid to believe it; how can any of this be real?

"It means," Peeta says in a voice that is suddenly so shy and so him that it _must_ be real, "that my girl c-came _here_ with me."

The crowd begins to shout. The buzzer rings. I find my hand clutched in Peeta's as I try to understand what he's saying. Could it be true? Am I the girl he's been talking about this whole time? I look to his face to read his expression, and though red, he is composed. We take our seats and then Caesar is waving goodbye to the cameras and promising that this year will be the best Games yet.

I'm not sure what happens next. I remember Peeta pulling me off the stage, remember Cinna, Effie, Haymitch, and Portia intercepting us from the back stage, remember the elevator ride as it is alive with chatter and excitement from the District 12 team. Peeta and I are silent. I'm still trying to understand, still fuming on the inside, because how is it possible? How is _any_ of this possible?

I don't eat anything once back in the suite; I retreat to my room after absentmindedly allowing Cinna and Portia to hug me. I'm afraid that if I don't immediately go, I'll kill Vesna and I don't think that's allowed. Wish it was.

Effie yells after me to get some sleep and Haymitch is hollering that I've done my job decently. I don't respond. The only person who might get a reaction out of me is letting me go without a fight, making me doubt his sincerity.

I kick off my shoes and pace inside my room, immediately pulling out my mockingjay pin and holding it close. What I wouldn't give to have Prim here now! She would know what to say, how to calm me down and make sense of Peeta's actions, of how to deal with Vesna's confession. What must Prim be thinking? Oh, how I miss her.

There is a pounding on my door but I ignore it.

"I told him he didn't deserve you!" Vesna shouts through the wood. "I'm right! Look at you, hiding away from him after he said those things about you! I hate you!"

My anger quickly escalates and then I'm on the door too, screaming back. "I see right through you! You don't love him!"

"I do!" she says scathingly.

"No!" I shout. "You don't! You don't know anything about him!" I'm two seconds from whipping the door open and pummeling her in the face when Haymitch comes down the hall.

"What's going on down here?" he asks. His voice is bitter; he is unhappy.

Vesna screams something at him but he spits a few venomous words and then they are gone. I throw my fist into the door and scream, feeling my anger simmer, desperate to release the energy waiting to burst from just under the surface.

This shouldn't be about Vesna. If I've done my job correctly, this time tomorrow she will be heading back to District 12 in a wooden casket. This is about Peeta, and as much as I hate it, Vesna is right. What am I doing, putting a door between us, when the Games start in the morning? It may be the last time I ever see him standing in front of me, warm and solid and unscathed.

I wear a track in the carpet before I've made up my mind that I have to go to him. We both deserve that much, at least. I can't avoid him forever, and besides, the longer I'm in my room alone the more I realize that I don't want to.

Determinedly, I start for the door and freeze when it suddenly swings open and Peeta is standing there with his hand on the doorknob, eyes wide as he catches my expression, his interview suit rumpled and unbuttoned. We stand there facing each other for the length of a few frantic heartbeats before he speaks.

"I'm sorry." He's rushing as if he'll lose his nerve if he doesn't spit it all out at once. "So sorry. I never wanted you to find out this way; you deserve better than that. I just didn't know what to do." He comes into my room now and shuts the door behind him. "I don't trust Vesna one bit and I couldn't let her have that leverage over me in the arena. I had to set the record straight. I'm so sorry."

I blink at him.

"Caesar wanted me to say something and all I could do was spit out the first thing that came to my mind." He approaches me with confidence but his neck is flushed and his voice is panicked. "I looked at you and all I could think of was how much I needed to protect the both of us from anything Vesna's words might have done to the Capitol."

Blink.

"Katniss." His voice is pained as he stops directly in front of me. "Say something."

My voice is weaker than I expect. "I'm not good at saying something."

We are both silent and the tension between us is thick. I can cut it with a knife. I feel my heartbeat, hear the blood rushing in my ears, and I wonder what is going through his mind. What does he want me to say? Where do I begin?

"Then come here," he whispers, holding out his arms.

I'm inside of them in a second, wrapping my own around his back and hugging him to me. I bury my face in the crook of his neck and breathe in the scent of him, feel his heartbeat hammer in synch with mine. Being like this makes it so tempting to forget every spoken word, but I can't afford to do that when he's to be taken by the Capitol and the Gamemakers tomorrow.

He smothers his face at the crook in my neck, too, holding me so tightly that I feel like I am him. Seconds drag into minutes, blurring lines and crossing thresholds that have been drawn for a long time. For the first time, wrapped up and around Peeta like this makes me realize how real he is and how much I can't stand to lose him. For the first time, _I_ feel real.

"I'm sorry too," I finally say, mumbling into him, hoping he can hear me.

His shoulders shake with laughter. "What for?"

I turn my head and draw away so that I can see those blue eyes of his. "I did the same thing Vesna did."

Something flickers across his face, but it's gone before I can read it. "You don't have to be sorry for that, Katniss. I. . . I know it wasn't real."

"Real," I murmur, testing the word, feeling my heart jump. It's too much to think about now. "Yours wasn't either, then?"

"Yes," he says. "No."

I swallow. Heart pounds. Confusion muddles everything like a layer of fog. "Which is it?"

His throat moves up and down nervously but he's meeting my eyes fearlessly and his arms are strong where they are wrapped around me. "Of course it was, Katniss. It's always been real." His eyes startle me both with their brilliancy and the pain I can see buried there. I feel as if I'm sprinting, and before I know what I'm doing, my lips have moved to press over his.

Peeta makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat and I pull away after just a moment because I can't believe I've just done that. Our eyes meet and my chest gives a short heave as I breathe in. He stares at me in complete awe and in this moment I can see that he is not lying to me. It's so clear on his face that I don't know how I've missed it before. The expression makes my heart ache, makes me feel like I need to be closer to him.

"Sorry," I breathe, heat in my cheeks.

He shakes his head as he cups my face with his hands and presses his forehead against mine. "That is a very stupid thing to be sorry for," he whispers. I don't resist when he presses his mouth against mine. Heat rushes through me unexpectedly and my arms curl tighter around him to bring him closer. Warm curiosity nudges me and flutters in my chest. I sigh as he tilts my head to the side and kisses me deeper, lips parting slightly against mine.

I don't know what I'm doing. This is too new and too unprecedented for me to understand exactly what is going through my mind. I feel dizzy; his lips are soft and gentle, asking and searching, not demanding. It's much too warm in my room and I'm finding that it's getting difficult to breathe, even when he breaks away from me.

His chest moves against mine and there is a smile in his voice. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that. Since. . .forever."

Without warning, my eyes prick with moisture and then I'm clutching at him, trying to take deep breaths. Such short time I have with him! I've done all I can and will continue to do more to secure him throughout the Games, but there are so many other factors that are unpredictable. It's very possible that by lunch tomorrow he will be dead.

If only he had told me sooner, if only I hadn't been so scared before to thank him that day Prim went missing, I could have had years with him instead of a few short weeks. Now I might never know his habits or his middle name. I can't bare the thought of it; how long, exactly, is _long_ to him? I don't even want to think about it, about the possibility that could have been.

Even though I'm managing to hold back the tears, my shoulders shake with the weight of my despair and Peeta notices. "Are you okay?"

"I wish you wouldn't ask," I say, muffled. "Nothing about this situation is okay."

"It's not me, is it?" he asks worriedly.

"I don't understand how I'm supposed to let them take you away from me," I tell him as I pull away. I sound stronger than I feel.

His nervous expression softens and then we are sitting on my bed, shoulders touching, his hand lightly smoothing back the hair that has fallen out of the intricate style Cinna has clipped it into. "They can't ever take me away from you. I've always been yours."

"It's not fair," I say, rising off the bed and moving away from him because just being close to him makes my mind fuzzy. "Why should they get to decide that? Why you, Peeta; why did they have to pick you?"

"Katniss—."

I whirl around and face him. "What?"

He's watching me carefully and I wish I could understand his thoughts. "It's a little bit obvious. I break the law on a daily basis by going beyond those fences; it was bound to happen sometime." He sounds sad as he says it, though we both know there really was no other choice for him. There still isn't. "It's okay. As long as they don't hurt you, it'll be okay."

I realize while I'm looking at him that there isn't anyone back home that really cares if he makes it back. Sure, there's his friend Gale, but he would move on eventually. His mother is a drunkard that rivals Haymitch in consumption, and the Seam people really couldn't care less as long as there is somebody bringing fresh meat in from the woods.

No, that isn't true. Prim is waiting for Peeta to return home with me, willing it with all her heart, I just know it. And then there's me. I can't even begin to understand my own feelings; all I know is that it will hurt me more than anything if Peeta doesn't make it out of the arena alive. How am I supposed to survive that very possible reality, if it happens?

"I don't want you to go," I say, my voice cracking a little bit.

His eyes are scared, his face wistful. "I don't want to go either."

"Then stay."

"Katniss, I can't."

"Tonight," I mumble as I move toward him again, and push back the hair on his forehead as I come to a standstill in front of him. "Stay with me tonight."

"Okay," he says, looking up at me. "I'll stay."

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I'm curled into Peeta's side, the blankets drawn up around us, the lights off. My head rests against his chest where I can hear his strong, steady heartbeat and I treasure every one of them. They may be numbered.

We haven't said much since the lights went off, and my thoughts are running wild. I'm trying to keep myself concerned with right now in the present but I keep thinking about tomorrow. I've been told that I will be housed in the Games headquarters near the District 12 mentor room, but the anxiety I feel at moving to a new place is nothing compared to the anxiety I feel for watching Peeta be a part of the Games.

I fling my arm across his stomach and pull myself in close because he's shaking underneath me and I know that he's terrified. "The Capitol loves you, Peeta," I whisper to him. "They're all betting on you; you won't die." Somehow, even though we're alone, it seems appropriate to whisper in the dark.

"Maybe not right away," he mumbles unevenly.

"You promised me you'd fight," I remind him gently, ignoring the clench of my heart at his words.

"And I will," he replies.

There is silence for a moment but we are both too tense for sleep and he needs to relax as much as possible before tomorrow where he will have to be on guard for every second. I will give him whatever comfort I can because for some unfathomable reason, Peeta Mellark has feelings for me that I don't deserve.

"Why me?" I ask softly.

He sighs underneath me. "It was the first day of school and you had your hair braided on either side of your head, wearing a red dress with a missing button at the top. My father walked me to school that morning and pointed you out.

"He said, 'I was gonna marry that little girl's mama, but she fell in love with the baker.' Of course, I asked him why he didn't just marry her anyways, why would she want to be part of a place that hated her, and he told me it was because your dad had some real nice buns."

I laugh slightly and it's not forced. "Peeta."

He chuckles too. "Okay, okay. So that's not _exactly_ what he said."

"Then what?"

He's serious again. "He said that when your father sings, even the birds pause to listen."

I recall my father's mockingjay pin sitting on my bed stand, those walks in the park when I was little. "They do."

"Right. And so later on, you sang the valley song at the school assembly and the birds outside all fell silent. And every day since then I've watched you come and go. Every day."

"I never said thank you," I say suddenly as I hold onto him, hold onto this moment that will no doubt be the driving force behind all my motives for the next few weeks.

He sounds startled. "What for?"

"That day with Prim," I tell him, remembering my panic. "You didn't even know me and you helped."

"I knew you," he says softly. "You just didn't know me."

I don't know how to respond to that because when he says things like this all I can think of is how I might never see him again. My arm holds me against him tighter and his arm around my back grips me in return. He is warm and strong but I think he is shivering and it doesn't take a genius to figure out why.

"Shhh, Peeta," I whisper. "It's going to be fine. You're fine."

"No, I'm not," he says.

Neither one of us gets much sleep. Peeta is too busy thinking about what is awaiting him in the morning and I'm too busy worrying that I haven't done enough to save his life. Silence rings in my ears but we are too afraid to break it apart. The only thing besides the silence is the beat of his heart, is the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Morning comes all too quickly. The door opens gently and Cinna stands there, looking unsurprised by Peeta and me on my bed together. He comes into the room and tells us that it's time to get ready. I instinctively bring myself closer to Peeta, but it's no use and I'm fighting a swell of panic and he disentangles myself from his embrace.

"Wait," I squeak.

He looks at me, half sitting on his elbows, so much stronger than he looked last night. I wonder what he's been telling himself, what thoughts have occupied his sleepless night, in order to make him look this way. "I wish we could."

Effie is bursting through the door behind Cinna. "Up, up, up! We've got a schedule to keep!" But even though her words are chipper, even she looks as though she's not buying them. She's obviously not herself because she's not scolding Peeta for spending the night in my room, which, she stressed on the first day on the train, is strictly forbidden.

Things pass in a blur after. I'm pulled from my room and Peeta's prep team is there to take Peeta away to Portia and Cyress. I have a hard time letting him go, but Cinna promises me that I'll get to see him one last time before he's placed on the hovercraft and carried away to the arena. I nod and Cinna takes me to dress me up in a comfortable outfit that makes me feel like I am myself again.

He's talking at me and I'm trying my best to concentrate, but even when I watch his lips I hear nothing. I can only think about what Peeta must be feeling right now, about how this might be his last day. My heart aches and though I have so many reasons to wish otherwise, I find myself thinking that I would feel better if I was to be going into the arena with him. But no. That is stupid, impossible. Only one tribute will be leaving the Games.

Haymitch meets Cinna and I at the elevators and he looks about as sober as I've ever seen him. His face is hard-edged and grim, but one look at me tells me that he knows what he's doing and that he's going to do whatever it takes, just like me. He wants Peeta alive, too.

"I must go attend to Vesna now, Katniss," Cinna says quietly. He squeezes my hand as I look up at him. "I'll see you after."

Haymitch and I follow him with our eyes as he goes to rouse. My hand clutches my mockingjay pin so tightly that I feel pain. It doesn't matter. Unexpectedly, Haymitch touches my shoulder and nods at the elevator.

"We best get going, sweetheart. Got a few last minute things to clear up," he says.

"Like what?" My voice is dead.

"_Things_," he stresses gruffly. He pushes my shoulder toward the elevator and hits a button. Moments later, the lift is descending quickly and with each passing second I feel myself growing stronger and more confident. I haven't counted Peeta out so why am I acting like it? Until his last breath passes his lips, I can't afford to be so weak with all of Panem watching.

Haymitch leads me off the elevators and into a car that I hear is supposed to take us to the place where the hovercraft waits for the tributes. Cyress is just walking out of the building with Effie scuttling along behind him and then both of them clip into a car with us.

Effie starts muttering to herself as she checks her schedule tablet and Haymitch pulls out a flask that sounds empty when he shakes it. I stare at Cyress who is peering out the windows because there is nothing in his expression that says he is sad, that he is afraid that his sister will die. I hate Vesna, but he's her brother. Is he just as heartless?

When we get to the hovercraft, there are other tributes arriving with their companions and mentors and the dismal words of parting linger in the air. I stand stiffly next to Cyress as Haymitch and Effie instruct us to stay put before they disappear into the building behind us.

"Peeta is ready?" Cyress asks me suddenly.

I look up at him, startled. "I don't think anyone can ever be ready for this."

"Vesna is." He takes a deep breath. "I can't talk to him when he gets here, my sister will think I'm betraying her."

What? I blink at him and try to understand what he's saying. "What do you need to tell him?"

He sighs and drops his head slightly. "She's ready for this, Katniss. He can't trust her. No matter what she says, no matter what she does, she can't be trusted. Got that?"

Why is he telling me this? "Strong words against your own blood," I murmur.

"Would be, if she shared my blood."

My eyes widen as I meet his gaze sharply. "What?"

He points off to the distance where another car is approaching. "Looks like they're here. I'll tell you later."

I can't help but watch him as he steps away from my side and turns his back on me. For as long as I've known and disliked Vesna, I've felt the same way about Cyress and her other siblings. My mind tries to make sense of the situation as I comprehend that he's helping me. Helping Peeta. I may be bold in thinking this, but he wants his sister dead.

Haymitch and Effie exit the building as another car pulls up alongside ours. Both of them are looking slightly relieved and I wonder what kind of business it is that they took care of and why it translates so much on their faces. I don't have time to preoccupy myself with this for long because the car door is opening and Cinna is emerging, followed by Vesna.

I don't know what I expect from her, but she takes one look at me and then a smile curls at her mouth. It's not a friendly smile. It's not even a smile that tells me she's better in every conceivable way. No, her smile says that she knows what she's doing and that she's going to do it, no matter the cost. Hatred rears up inside of me, screaming at me to tackler her to the ground and give it to her, but I won't. Not now.

Haymitch calls her over to have a few last words and Cyress goes to meet both of them. My attention is quickly diverted, my anger and confusion quickly covered by a surge of warmth as my name is called out above the gentle din of the open area.

I look toward the car in time to see Peeta leaving it. A smile breaks across his face as if he isn't about to be facing down his death and seeing him somehow brings a smile to my face too. I go to him and throw my arms around my neck. The smile is gone. This is not a happy occasion.

"You're smart, Peeta," I mumble in a low voice. "Cyress says that Vesna is dangerous and I'm highly inclined to believe him. Don't go near her. You know you can win this."

He pulls away to look at me with the full force of his eyes, determined and composed. "But if I don't—."

"You will." I'm fierce because I believe it. He has to believe it too.

"But if I _don't_, Katniss." He's holding onto my arms now, making me look at him and accept the possibility. "I need you to tell Prim how much I tried for her, okay? Tell Gale that I love him. That he's my brother."

Tears are pricking at my eyes because this feels too real and I don't like it. "Peeta—."

"Please? Promise me."

"No!" I say, almost angrily. "I won't promise you anything because you are not going to die in there. You hear me? _You aren't_."

Haymitch comes over, leaving Vesna and Cyress near Effie. He puts one hand each on my shoulder and on Peeta's, his voice low. "Don't forget what I told you, kid. Forget about the Cornucopia, head for the woods and find water. The rest will follow."

Peeta nods. "Got it."

Haymitch glances between us for a moment and then ruffles Peeta's hair. "You've got this, boy." Then he stands back as Peacekeepers begin to round up the tributes and lead them onto the hovercraft. My heart thumps painfully and then my arms are back around Peeta's neck.

He holds me tightly. "Katniss, you should know that I—."

"No," I say. "No."

He pulls away. Our time is running out. "I lo—."

"No, Peeta," I spit as I cup my hand over his mouth. "You do not get to say that to me."

"It may be the only time I can tell you," he says gently as he pries my hand away.

"No," I repeat, only it comes out brokenly. "You come back to me. Come back to me and tell me."

"But Katniss—."

I force my mouth against his for a short, quick moment. It is long enough to feel the swell of warmth, the spark of a fire between us, and then I'm pulling away as the Peacekeepers are sidling up.

"Time to go," one says. When Peeta doesn't immediately comply, they reach for his arms and start to force him away.

"Wait! Peeta!" I yell, shoving my hand in my pocket, feeling the metal slide against my fingers. I run to him as he reaches for me.

"Katniss, I'll be okay," he says.

My emotion pricks at my eyes as I push the mockingjay pin into his outstretched hand. "Take this," I say desperately. "To remember." _To remember what you're fighting for. _

He grasps it, but his eyes are on me and I wonder if he even knows what he's just accepted. "Thank you," he tells me loudly. All eyes are on us now; we've been making so much noise, but I don't care. None of them matter.

"Remember what Haymitch said!" I say, voice cracking, heart breaking.

"I will!"

I can only stand there as he is forced to fall in line with the others and within a matter of minutes he is gone from my sight. The other companions stare at me. I don't care. My chest is tight, but it's okay because Peeta is going to win. He's strong enough, and he's smart enough. I know he can do it.

Haymitch doesn't startle me when he puts a hand on my shoulder. I'm too absorbed too be startled. "Alright. Let's go, sweetheart. I need a drink before the buzzer goes off."

For the first time, that doesn't sound like a bad idea.


	13. Chapter 13: Peeta

Huzzah! I did finish it, you guys! This is a very happy occasion, considering I didn't actually start writing it until yesterday xD

I'm posting this a day early because I will be busy tomorrow. I should have PLENTY of time to write the next chapter for next Friday though, so you don't have to worry about another late deadline (:

Good lord. Writing stuff without Katniss involved is hard; I'm so used to writing about her! Haha. Hope I did okay with this chapter; and yes, let the Vesna-Hating-Club commence it's reign of terror. You'll see what I mean ;)

Enjoy! Leave me your thoughts please!

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**Thirteen**: _Peeta_

Now that I no longer have Katniss as a distraction, the fear consumes me. It is in every breath, every heartbeat, every frantic thought I spin. However, despite the way it swallows me whole, it does not incapacitate me. I'm terrified and I can't deny it, but I will not let it dictate what I'm about to do. What I have to do. For myself. For Katniss. Prim. Gale.

Portia slips a jacket up my arms and she's saying something about how I should be expecting dramatic and sudden climate changes, but I'm staring at the thing Katniss had thrust into my hand before I'd been carted off.

It's probably the most expensive thing I've ever touched, easily. A golden ring encases a bird posed in flight. It's a mockingjay, the birds that listen to her when she sings in the park. The ones that carry her father's tunes as they float out the backdoor of the bakery.

I know as I'm looking at it that it is important to her, that it was probably given to her by her father before she left District 12 to get on the Capitol train. It's hard to swallow, but this pin in my hand has proven her more than anything she has said to me. It says that she trusts me, that she wants me, that she is counting on me to return to her.

Her words are helpful, but they are suddenly not the reason that I'm going to fight. It is for this mockingjay pin, a precious piece of her family that she has decided to trust me with, that I will do everything I possibly can to make it back to her. Besides that, she has to know how much I love her. Why hadn't I just spit it out at her? Maybe it's because I can't see myself doing anything that would upset her. She'd certainly made it clear that she didn't want to know the depth of my feelings. I wouldn't let that hurt me; she has her reasons. I don't need to assume I know everything about her.

"Peeta?" Portia says gently, breaking me out of my reverie. "Peeta did you hear me?"

I look up at her slowly, finding it hard to concentrate on anything when this dreaded moment has finally come. "What?"

She looks around and touches my face with a surprising tender motion. Her voice drops. "What are you going to do?"

I search her face. "What do you mean?"

She shakes her head and wraps her arms around me, then her lips are at my ear, urgent. "Cinna says that you've made a bold move by telling the Capitol your feelings for Katniss; if you don't play this right, Peeta, the sponsors will leave you for Vesna."

I hug her back, my eyes fixing on a camera hovering in the corner of the room. "What can I do?"

"Prove to the Capitol you're worth the fuss," she says somberly into my ear. "Even if it means pairing up with Vesna."

The idea is immediately repulsive and absolutely absurd. Warning bells go off in my head; Katniss had that tone in her voice when she was saying goodbye, when she mentioned that I shouldn't trust Vesna no matter what. What will forming an alliance with Vesna do for me?

Then I realize it. The Capitol is feeding off this love triangle as if it is actual nourishment, and despite what I said about Katniss, maybe it's smart to play the confused man in the middle. Maybe I should pretend to be attracted to Vesna, if only for a little while. It could do things for me sponsorship wise that I can't even imagine, and if I stuck around Vesna long enough, surely the cameras would get a whiff of how unbearable the girl is.

I pull away from Portia, resolved and scared of my solution. Katniss might hate me for this, but if it's going to keep me alive—if it's going to save her any sort of pain in the future—then I will do it. Even if it hurts now. In the long run, it will be okay.

Portia smiles at me, but her eyes are tight and I jump when a voice announces that I should be getting into the glass tube now. My hands shake and a choppy breath pushes through my lips, making Katniss' mockingjay pin drop to the ground. Portia bends down to pick it up.

"What's this?" she asks softly.

"Katniss," I say, because I don't think I can manage full sentences right now. Terror. It is all I feel.

She looks at me knowingly and then I'm surprised when she leans forward to fasten the pin in a secure spot on my jacket. It gleams in the light of the room and then the voice is back telling me that I need to get in the tube now.

Portia walks me to the opening. "Now, you can do this, Peeta. Just remember what Haymitch told you, shoot straight, and hold onto that pin." She smiles. "I can't bet, but if I could, I'd bet on you."

I nod slowly. "Thank you." I wish I can tell her how much that means to me but I think she already knows. A deep breath in, and suddenly the shaking stops. What am I doing? I've been a hunter for my entire life and while the thought of having to hurt people—people who want to live just as badly as I do—is awful, they will try to kill me. I'm still scared, but I know what I'm doing and I'm going to do it.

Portia guides me to the tube and urges me to step inside reluctantly. As soon as I'm in position I look over my shoulder at her and the glass door slides shut. Panic attempts to rear up again, but I push it down. Slowly but surely, I watch in fascination as Portia touches three fingers to her lips and the holds them to me. How did she know about that District 12 custom? Why is she using it for me at all?

I have no time to wonder about it because the plate I'm standing on begins to move me upwards and I only stare at Portia's face for a few more moments. A chilly breeze swirls down on me and my hair brushes with the movement. Slowly, slowly, slowly, I'm lifted out of the tube to face a meadow that extends far into the distance.

All my fellow tributes have arrived at the same time and while I know we must all be feeling the same things, most of them are doing a good job of hiding their fear. Our eyes glance around the arena, taking in the large lake, the woods, the Cornucopia with stacks of goodies. The minute long countdown begins and my eyes zero in on a bow and a sheath of arrows nestled among the bulk.

I'm surprised by how much I want it. Suddenly, as the minute comes to an end, it's all I can think about. How much easier things would be if I had it. If I could just get that bow, I'd have all the other twenty three tributes dead inside of a day. I could be with Katniss again. I could go home.

No. Haymitch said to run, and after all the reminders, I can't possibly blow him off. He's done too much for me to disrespect him like that.

Instead, I painfully peel myself away from the direction of the bow and angle my shoulders toward the trees. Several other items lay in the grass between the Cornucopia and the forest and I'm pleased to see a backpack lodged in my general direction. Maybe there is a weapon in there.

Feet ready. Heartbeat steady. The gong sounds and then there is a flurry of activity. Screams rip through the air, but I don't stop. I'm sprinting for the bag. Sounds of agony tear at me, begging for help, for mercy, for answers. I scoop up the backpack as I reach it and keep going as far and as fast as I can.

Something whizzes past me and then there is an arrow lying in front of me. I pick that up too, glad to know that whoever has snatched up my bow and arrow doesn't know how to use it properly.

I'm crashing through the trees now, along the rim, toward the river I saw feeding into the lake. My heartbeat isn't so steady anymore, and my breath comes out in ragged puffs. There are still shouts of victory and screams of terror ringing out from near the Cornucopia. I glance through the leaves to see that I'm bigger than at least three of the Careers: both from 1 and the girl from 2. If it comes down to it, I will be just fine defending myself.

I soon reach the river and then I'm heading down along it's banks as quietly as I can among the rocks. There are no other tributes in the area, but I don't want to take my chances. Just because I can win in a fight doesn't mean I want to call one into action now. Besides, I need to find somewhere I can call a home for the next several days. Then I need to focus on a plan.

It's hours before I stop to take a drink. The terror has settled and if I forget what I've seen of the bloodbath, then I can almost imagine that it's just another hunting day in 12. But I can't forget and as I'm resting against a rock wall, my head spins. This seems so unreal; that I'm in the Hunger Games and that my life is on the line. How can it be real?

Noisy footsteps. I immediately spring to my feet and take the stray arrow I have in my fist. It's not much, but it's better than nothing. My heart races as I brace myself and I keep saying that this isn't so bad, but it is and I can't believe otherwise.

Blonde hair tied high up on her head. Vesna pokes her head around a tree, a trail of blood trickling down the side of her face. She looks harmless, the way she's looking at me right now, but I don't dare let down my guard.

"I was hoping it'd be you," she says much too loudly.

"What happened to your head?" I ask cautiously. My eyes dart around for others she might have formed an alliance with, considering I've seen her with Cato from 2 before, but there is no one.

She winces and comes out from around the tree trunk. "Glimmer smashed me with the butt of her knife when I swiped these from her." She reaches behind her and I tense, waiting to see something deadly, waiting for her to ambush me. And it is deadly, but she holds it out as an offering and my eyes widen because it's much too good to be true.

"My bow," I say softly as I stare at it.

She thrusts the bow and sheath of arrows a little closer to me, her cheeks turning pink. "I got them. . .for you."

I know that this is dangerous. I know. And I know that wherever Katniss is, she's probably scathing at the screens, screaming at me to run away from her. But she doesn't realize what kind of predicament I've created by announcing my feelings for her. She doesn't know that tricking Vesna might be my best shot at survival in the long-run.

Slowly, I approach her and reach out to take the weapon, watching her carefully for any signs of betrayal or sudden movement. She just continues to blush and avoid my eye contact. A deep sense of satisfaction curls in my chest once I have the arrows in my hand. I'm no longer defenseless. As much as I abhor the thought of killing a person, I have the ability to do it.

"Thanks," I say, though I pull away from her immediately. I'm still anticipating a trap. "So you make any friends at the Training Center?"

She shrugs and for the first time I notice that she has a backpack on too. "I thought about it, but after that first day, I kind of lost interest. I work better alone. We should be pairs!"

She's totally just contradicted herself in true Vesna fashion, but I'm too wary to point it out. "How do I know that I can trust you?"

Her eyebrows draw in and she instantly looks five years younger. "Honestly, Peeta. I know you love Katniss and I'm not trying to change that. I just. . .I just want to make sure you're safe." Her blue eyes are round and sincere. The Capitol must be going crazy for her right now. I wonder if Katniss is punching things yet.

"That's really nice of you, Vesna," I tell her. I need to tread carefully here.

"Right?" she says happily.

"I just don't know if it's a good idea," I say, though on the inside I'm racing to find a way to turn this in my favor. What does the Capitol want to see? What will keep me alive longer?

Her eyes drop to the ground, but she is tense like she is angry. "I thought you might say that." She takes a deep breath and then looks back up. "What can I do to prove it to you?"

Memories flit through my mind about how she's acted in the past week or so—the way she's tried to snuggle up to me, to make Katniss look bad. Really, the only indication that I've taken to believe Vesna to be bad is the warning from Cyress. Why do I believe that he is more trustworthy than her? For all I know, he could be playing me off.

Now I'm more confused than ever. I don't know what to believe or how to act on it. Vesna has asked me a question, though, and suddenly I'm inclined to think that the Capitol wants to see this. Wants to see a dramatic love story unfold. I think that is what I have to give them, if I want to live. Katniss will understand. She'll have to.

"We sleep separately," I say. I don't want to wake up in the middle of the night with an arrow stabbed through my throat. I might be confused, but I don't think Vesna is above it. "Divide the rations evenly. Keep quiet." I take a deep breath and then force myself to follow through with a threat, to get my point across. "You stab me in the back and you'll find an arrow in your heart. Got it?"

She smiles at me, as if my words are nothing. "Got it!"

I get the feeling I'll regret this.

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I don't know where Vesna is sleeping, but I'm perched on a tree within sight of the river. Just beyond, the trees get thicker, and bushes full of bristles and thorns block any footpath you might be able to take. It looks dangerous, but maybe if I make a home in there somewhere, the tributes will have a tough time getting to me. They can't kill me, after all, if they can't find me.

The night air is cold and it blows through the leaves as I peek out to see the pictures of tributes who flash in the sky. Thirteen dead. Only eleven left. I start to wonder if these Games are going to last all that long and then I ponder if instead of being the prey as I've constantly considered myself, I should just load up the bow and go hunting tomorrow.

No. I won't do that. I might have leverage now that Vesna—God only knows why—brought me my best weapon, but I don't relish the thought of killing. Better to wait it out until I understand more about my opponents. Maybe they'll all kill each other off before I'm forced to do anything about it.

It turns out that my backpack I picked up contains a variety of things that are mostly useful. Right now, I've got myself strapped to the limb of a tree in a sleeping bag with a strong cord. The temperature is frosty; I can see my breath come out in icy puffs, even in the darkness that's illuminated by a full moon. A Gamemaker made moon. Not the same moon that is hanging over Katniss or Gale or Prim.

I wonder what Gale is doing right now. I've made it through the first day alive, so that must give him some sense of hope. He's probably curled up with his siblings around the TV to watch the nightly recaps, stony faced as he's forced to watch something he can't stand, forced to watch me be paraded, primped and then cast off as a Capitol puppet.

I burrow into my sleeping bag until it's just my eyes and the top of my head poking out. What about the Witch? Is she still alive? I told Gale before I left that I wouldn't blame him—wouldn't care, even—if he left alone the woman who calls herself my mother. If he's done that, I don't know what she must be doing to eat. To get the liquor that's so valuable and precious to her. I tell myself I don't care and I don't. She's not worth my thoughts. Not worth anything, really.

I'm hoping that Prim is doing alright with Katniss gone. I'm sure she is. The baker and his wife are quiet but kind people and Katniss is a miracle that has come out of the hateful town district. Prim is probably cuddled up with the two of them. Is she still rooting for me? Hoping that I come home? For the first time since I've really allowed myself to think about her, a pang of sorrow shoots through me before it disappears. I'm finding that I really miss Katniss' little sister.

And then there's Katniss. She'd probably sooner kill me than kiss me since I've decided to allow a team bond to form between me and Vesna, but that doesn't mean I can't remember. Our kisses weren't something prolonged and heated, really, but they were precious to me. At least I got to experience that once in my life, before the Games. How I wish I could talk to her. There is only so much one can pick up after years of observation. As creepy as that sounds. I have so much more to learn about her.

My drowsy eyes peel back quickly when an orange glow bursts to life several yards into the darkness of the forest. I stare at the flickering and I can't believe the sheer idiocy of the fire-starter. Have they not learned nothing from their training days? From years of watching the Hunger Games themselves? Starting a fire at night is clear beacon to anyone combing the woods for more victims!

I immediately think of Vesna. It has to be her; who else would have come this close without me hearing or realizing it? I'm tempted to shimmy down the tree and run to her, tell her to stomp out the fire and take off, even if it's dark out, but something tells me to sit and wait. Maybe the Careers are too far away to see the fire anyways; the smoke must be invisible from the air. Maybe I'm just overreacting.

I tell myself that I will stay awake to see what happens. I tell myself that if anyone comes into the clearing, I will take a shot with my bow. My eyes close. My breathing deepens. It appears that it doesn't matter what I tell myself; I haven't had sleep in over two days and I'm too tired to resist it when it swoops in.

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My sleep is fitful at best. I keep expecting to be startled away by the boom of a canon, telling me that last night's idiot has been killed and taken away by a hovercraft. But when I awake, I realize that I have heard no such noise and it makes me wary.

Fine. If they think they can set up a trap for me to walk right into, I'll stick an arrow in them.

I pack up my things as quietly as I can. I'm tempted to eat the jerky that had been packed into my bag, but my condition for teaming up with Vesna was sharing food and I'd be a jerk to take that away from her. I sigh and drop down a series of tree branches until I'm crouched on the bed of pine needles that make up much of the forest floor.

Swiftly, I get my arrow ready, setting it on the string and poising the bow for a quick shot. My tread is soft and steady as I leave my tree behind and approach the place where the fire still smolders as blackened embers. Heart pounds. Vesna is curled up near the edge of the fire pit, blood dried to her face, but her chest moves up and down. She is unharmed. Alive.

I crouch down by her side, hesitantly, still looking around. "Vesna."

She startles awake and her eyes find me quickly. "Oh. Good morning Peeta.

_Oh, good morning, Peeta_. I can't help but stare at her because she's acting like we aren't in the middle of some death game. I just woke her up with an arrow pointed at her, for crying out loud.

"You were the one who set the fire?" I ask incredulously, straightening.

She sits up with a lazy yawn and an equally lazy smile. "Well, we can't all have heat-reflecting sleeping bags, can we?"

I feel frozen on the inside. I never told her about my sleeping bag. "And you didn't run into any trouble?" I force myself to say.

She looks at me quizzically. "Trouble?"

"Yeah, you know, people stumbling into your camp with knives and spears poised to kill you," I say irritably. "Trouble."

"Nope!" she says brightly as she rises stiffly to her feet. "None of that here."

I lower my bow and take a step back from her. "Good. Let's not wait around for it to find us."

Her eyes gleam and her smile brightens. I'm wary. "Good idea! Where to next, Mr. Survivor Man?"

Survivor Man. Well, I suppose if I'm anything, it's that. I nod my head towards the forest of bristles and thorns. "This way."

Something in her expression changes, but I can't pinpoint what it is. "Why? It looks dangerous."

I roll my eyes where she can't see me and begin making my way to the edge of the bristle forest. The brambles and thorns reach at least a foot over my head and while I know this is going to hurt, its in my best interest. There's bound to be a clearing in there where I can set up a permanent camp before I go out and start to take on the Careers and others. "That's the point."

I take a deep breath and place my arrow back into the sheath, holding my bow close to me as I start into the brambles.

"Peeta," Vesna cries out in a strangled voice behind me. "Peeta, that's not a good idea!"

"You're right," I say over my shoulder as I duck my head. A thorn snags at my jacket and I rub past it carefully to avoid tearing it completely. "It's a great idea."

"We don't know what's in there!"

I lose my patience and turn to face her, her expression obscured by a few criss-crossing thorn branches between us. "Really, Vesna. You don't have to follow me. But whatever is inside these bushes is far better than anything outside of them. Stop _whining_."

She frowns. "Are you coming back out?" Her hands fiddle and she switches her feet. I watch carefully, taking note of her reaction. Something is definitely not fitting right, especially with that fire that should have broadcast to everyone in the arena where she was.

"If I don't die," I say sarcastically. Both of us jump when a sudden keening rises above the trees. The birds scatter and then there is a mess of rowdy laughter. The screaming cuts off abruptly. I stare at Vesna who is looking over her shoulder as my heart pounds. There is silence for a brief moment before the canon booms.

"They're close," Vesna whispers.

"Who?" I ask when she turns back to look at me with large, terrified eyes.

She suddenly launches herself into the brambles. I push back a few more feet and then crouch behind a leafy bush, readying an arrow quickly. Vesna yips and squeals as the thorns tear at her but she's behind the busy before the laughter can grow too much louder.

"The Career pack," she says softly, but she keeps her face away from my gaze. Her eyes are trained on the clearing we just left and her lips twitch into almost a smile as the first couple Careers stumble into view. "Shoot."

I glance at her, alarmed by the dark tone in her voice. "What?"

She nods toward them. "Shoot Marvel. He's deadly with a spear, which makes him worse than Cato. He can only hurt you if you get too close."

I'm overwhelmed by how much she knows about them. "I'm not shooting anyone."

She gives me a look. "Peeta. These are the Hunger Games. The point is to kill people."

Something burns in my chest suddenly and it doesn't take me long to understand the flame of hatred. "I don't want to kill people," I say, staring at her. She has been ruined by the Capitol, long before ever getting picked for the reaping. And that's when I realize that she was picked because she enjoys this. Because the Gamemakers thought it could be interesting. Vesna has been turned into their plaything, their puppet. She will do what they want, whenever they want it.

She must read the look on my face, because she suddenly smiles at me, and it's unlike any smile I've ever seen.

"Vesna!"

We both snap our heads to the District 2 boy, Cato, who is calling out for my tribute partner. "Vesna! Where are you? Damn it!"

Things click into place. She was visited last night; but she's formed some sort of alliance with them, some sort of deal that I don't know the other end of. Is the Capitol believing her now, that she wants to keep me alive? Because I don't. I can't sit here and pretend that I trust her when I don't. She never loved me. It was all an act.

I take one last look at her and then I'm scrambling through the thorns and bushes, panting as Vesna calls back out to Cato. Something metal swooshes through the air, destroying the brambles. They begin to gain on me quickly.

My heart sinks. Katniss was right yesterday; why didn't I listen to her? Is she mad at me now? I bet she is. I don't blame her; I'm kicking myself for being so stupid. Who cares what the Capitol could have done? I'm in the Hunger Games for crying out loud; I was going to be put through hell no matter what! They were going to find out Vesna's nature no matter what!

I'm not going to die. No. I'm faster than them, and Vesna was stupid enough to hand over my bow. Does she even realize how it's second nature for me to kill? That'll be the last mistake she makes where I'm concerned.

"Oh Lover Boy!" Cato shouts from somewhere behind me as a girl cackles. "If you give in now, I promise that I'll make it quick!"

"Think about it!" it's a different girl—nastier, less sweet than Vesna. When a knife whizzes past my head suddenly, nicking my ear enough to draw a thin stream of blood, I know it's Cato's district partner, Clove. "I'm not as forgiving!"

More laughter. Even though they've got numbers, I'm faster and I know my aim is unfailing. My heart beats my ribcage abusively as I keep my arrow ready to fly. I hear another whoosh and I duck just in time to avoid it. I grit my teeth against the pain as the thorns tear at me, as the blood drips from my ear. I've faced worse, much worse, but I was never running for my life at the time. The adrenaline starts to make the pain numb, but not enough. I'm still aware.

I don't know how long I run, but the laughter and the taunting never cease. District 1's tributes Glimmer and Marvel join Cato and Clove in the murderous teasing. Not once do I hear Vesna and I tell myself that if I hear her voice again in my lifetime—however short it may be—it will be too soon.

I should have noticed it sooner, should have realized that I have been choking on thick fumes for too long. I don't. There's a brightening up ahead, a sound like roaring and then I'm scrambling back in the opposite direction of my progress, veering just to the left of the Careers. I've reached the path they've carved out behind them when the screaming starts, when the roaring gets louder.

I push myself to run faster, feeling my mouth beg for water, my muscles strain from exertion. The Careers are wildly crashing after me, but not because they want to kill me.

It's because they want to escape the descending wall of fire, too.


	14. Chapter 14: Katniss

Damn, okay you know what? Forget weekly schedules. I never ACTUALLY post a chapter on Friday. I'm just going to start posting whenever I get the chapter done. I'm too excited to hold onto them anymore.

Yes, that's right, I'm _too _excited. This has been my favorite chapter to write so far (YES I AM TELLING THE TRUTH) and I think it's because there is a lot more plot in here than just "Oh poor Peeta and Katniss, falling in love while he is getting ready to fight in a televised death match boo hoo." IT IS JUST ALL SO DIFFERENT AND IT MAKES ME HAPPY. YES. CAPS LOCK YAY.

Anyways, tell me what you think? I love hearing all of your guys' opinions! Special shout out to _Funkypurplerhino_ for reviewing every chapter and putting awesome little ideas into my head for what's to come in this fic. I love you I love you I love you.

Wow, Taylor, long enough AN?

Pfft. No.

ENJOY THE CHAPTER! :D

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**Fourteen**: _Katniss_

I giggle as I set the empty glass down, which I don't think I've ever done in my life. I know that I shouldn't be happy and Haymitch really isn't being that funny. It could be the white liquor I've just slammed back for the third or fourth time. It could also be the part of me that's freaking out so much I can't function correctly. I don't care to analyze it close enough to figure it out.

Haymitch raises an eyebrow at me and it only makes me giggle more. I know I need to stop but I'm afraid that if I stop that I'll start crying. And as bad as it is to giggle in front of Haymitch, it will be even worse to cry.

"I think you're done," he says as he reaches for my glass and pulls it away from him. I don't fight it; it's probably for the best.

I sigh and drop my chin onto my folded arms that rest on the table. Machines beep at us and somewhere in the background, Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith are chattering quietly on all the District 12 screens about the likelihood of survival of each tribute.

The Games will be starting sometime within the next ten minutes and I'm not near ready to see them. I'm so afraid for Peeta. I don't want him to die; if there's one thing I can't stand the thought of, it's that he does not exist. He's much too good—the best thing that's been able to come out of Panem as long as I've been around.

Cyress enters the room and it's the first time I've seen him since we got here an hour ago.

"Where have you been, boy?" Haymitch asks, raising an eyebrow and flourishing with his flask.

"None of your business," Cyress snaps. He leans against the table where I am and I feel his eyes staring into the top of my head. "I need to talk to you."

When he says this, I remember what he said earlier about Vesna and my interest is immediately piqued. It wouldn't take much though; I'm desperate for a distraction. I'm not even sure I want to see the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. "Sure," I say.

Haymitch takes a swig of his drink and gives me a pointed look. "Don't be too long, sweetheart, or your boyfriend might not be alive when you get back."

"Thanks for the tip," I remark bitterly before following Cyress out of the room. He leads me down a corridor and I look inside the rooms we pass curiously. District 11. District 10. District 9. After a few rooms I can't stand to look in anymore and see the anguish and anxiety written on the faces of the companions. I'm feeling enough of that myself.

Cyress pushes open a door almost near the end of the hall and reveals a large room filled with beds. This must be where mentors and companions are set to sleep throughout the Games. I see a few that are already occupied by shivering masses and I look away quickly. It is embarrassing to intrude on such a private moment, those snippets of weakness that all of us are too afraid to show while the cameras watch.

"The bathroom is usually quieter," Cyress murmurs as he heads toward a door near the end of the room. I immediately translate this into _no one will hear us in the bathroom_ so I follow without a word.

Once inside, he locks the door and turns on all the faucets until whispering is safe. I sit on the ridiculously lavish couch lining the wall and he perches next to me stiffly. My lips are pursed. He knows what he promised me; I'm not going to push him into talking even if a part of me is screaming at him to spit it out. I'm not really at my best when I get impatient. It's better to hide that away with the hopes of getting more information than I would otherwise.

I'm rewarded almost instantly. "Vesna isn't my sister," he says in a low, rushed voice as if he's hurrying to get it out. "My mother never had a girl after giving birth to me and Thom, so we adopted from the district kid's home."

I take this in with cool calmness, though my mind is reeling. "So who is she really?"

Cyress shrugs and meets my eyes for the first time. "I don't know. But she wasn't born in District 12."

My hands find my face and rub at my eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He shakes his head. "Mom's papers say that she's what they call a Cap kid."

"Cap kid?" A part of me wonders if he's making this up just to throw me off guard and earn my trust. Another part of me hears the truthful ring in his voice and sees the sincerity in his eyes and I can't doubt him. Even if this stuff isn't real, he believes what he's saying whole-heartedly.

"Yeah." He looks around the room conspiratorily and then barely moves his lips. "A child born from the games in the Capitol. You know. Between victors and the highest bidder."

I stare at him blank-faced. "How do you know all of this?"

"Papers. Eavesdropping. Does it matter? Point is, Vesna has the traits of a killer and of a stuck-up snob. It's not a good mix."

"Do you know who the parents are?"

"No." He shakes his head. "That part was never disclosed in the adoption. Everything else was kept under wraps. If Panem as a whole ever knew about where the kids in the district homes come from, things wouldn't be pretty."

I take a deep breath to steady myself and then rise from the couch. "So if Vesna's lineage is ever exposed, things could get crazy in the districts." I see why. The Capitol thinks they can pawn off accidental children on the districts who already struggle to feed their families. As if we can afford any more hungry mouths. It's disgusting really. If the trafficking of victors was stopped, they wouldn't have this problem, wouldn't have to send away poor innocent infants to a world where they will be reaped and killed for simply being a mistake.

I didn't think I could hate the Capitol more for what it has done to Peeta—what will probably become of him if he wins—but I do. Anger suddenly rears up in me so hot and heavy that I'm gritting my teeth against it.

"I wish there was a way to throw this back in their faces," I say heatedly and much too loudly. Nothing could ever change the hate I harbor for Vesna, but she can't help who she is, where she comes from. Everyone knows that victors don't always maintain their sanity after winning the Games; Vesna probably has some sort of mental illness that gears her towards destruction. It wouldn't surprise me. Doesn't mean I want her to live, but still.

Cyress ignores my rant and keeps his voice much lower than mine. "I don't know what Vesna will do if she wins this thing, but I can tell you right now, it won't be pretty."

I look at him stonily. "Why did you even get on that train for her?"

He rolls his eyes. "I didn't do it for her; I did it for Peeta. I figured he needed someone to look after him. He deserves it; after all he's done for District Twelve, I thought it would be nice for him. For a change."

All my misconceptions about Cyress disappear in an instant. Those irritable things he's said, the way he's acted—throwing things against Vesna's favor without outright stating it as demonstrated by his unwillingness in the interviews—have all pointed toward where I am now, listening to him confess that he just wants to protect Peeta.

"My father used to be friends with his mom," he continues, staring at the running water in the sinks. "We could always count on him and Gale to bring by meat when things were tough in the winter."

Looking at Cyress right now, I wonder how many other people back in 12 feel this way about Peeta, how many others see his generosity and goodness. My anger softens because I suddenly look at Cyress and see a friend where before there was only Haymitch and Effie—and neither one of_ them_ would be my first choice.

"Thank you," I say softly. I know that he will be on Peeta's side throughout the Games. I see it in the way he's sort of smiling.

He nods and rises to his feet as well. "We should probably get back; I'm sure the Games start anytime now."

I help him to turn off the faucets and then we are both making our way back to the District 12 compartment, though my feet are reluctant the entire time. The only thing that keeps them going is thinking that avoiding the bloodbath is a weak choice. I am not weak. I am strong.

Haymitch lounges about in his same chair when we return, but I feel a shock go through me when I see a tall, familiar man propped up in my chair, his feet on the table. Cyress enters the room easily and sits in a vacant chair near a cluster of screens at the far end.

Haymitch spots me and then begins to scold. "'Bout time, sweetheart."

The man looks over his shoulder and I'm struck again by how attractive he is. I wouldn't be the first. A blush eats up my face as I remember our last encounter. "Hey, Katniss. Fancy meeting you again."

I nod my head a little. "Mr. Odair."

He laughs at my formality. "Do I look old enough to be a mister? Don't answer that. Call me Finnick."

"Finnick."

"Come sit down, girl," Haymitch says with mild exasperation as he gestures to the screens where shots of the arena—still empty of tributes—are starting to be aired. It's a vast place, but there are trees, which means that Peeta will be in his element. In this aspect, at least, the odds are in his favor.

"I don't feel much like sitting," I say. My stomach is alive with nerves and I find my hands shaking. It's true; if I sit now, I'll only be right back on my feet again. Better to not waste the energy.

"Leave her alone, Haymitch," Finnick says playfully as he stands up. I'm a little wary of him; someone so comfortable on the starting day of the Games with two tributes in the arena isn't on my list of people to immediately trust. "I need to go see Johanna before the bell rings."

Haymitch rolls his eyes. "Thanks for the play-by-play, kid. Do I look like I care what you do?"

Finnick grins. "You love me and you know it, you old geezer." He starts my way and winks at me with a dazzling grin. Nope; even after he saved me from that sponsor Talik on opening night, I still can't trust him. "I'll see you later, kitten."

"Yay," I deadpan.

He laughs as he leaves and a sharp pang of sadness goes through me. My father used to call me kitten when I was younger, which progressed into Kat as I got older. I wish he is here now, to hold my hand while I'm forced to watch Peeta endure this torture.

Haymitch grumbles as he takes a drink. Surprisingly enough, it looks like water. Not that that's saying anything. "Just ignore him, Katniss," he says. "But seriously. Sit down. You're making me nervous, hulking there like that."

"I'm not hulking," I snap, though I try to take a seat. I manage to stay down as long as I tap my foot. There is silence in the compartment for a few moments and then a Peacekeeper sticks his head through the door and tells us to prepare for the commencement. My stomach turns at his easy words and then he's shutting the door. The only light in the room comes from the wall of screens and buttons that are connected to dozens of cameras in the arena, which Haymitch has told me will specifically follow Peeta and Vesna.

My heart jumps into my throat when I see the tubes dispense the tributes, but I keep my expression stoic as I take in Peeta's intelligent gaze, which flicks around quickly, calculating. Vesna isn't looking quite as sharp, but I'm chalking that up to strategy rather than personality. Just looking at her makes me angry. I hope Peeta remembers what I said.

The minute countdown is grueling and all of us in the compartment hold our breaths as we watch the clock tick, watch Peeta and Vesna and the other tributes get poised to run.

I seem to take things in with blurry eyes as the gong rings. My heart pounds as if I am standing next to Peeta. When an arrow barely whizzes past his head, missing him, I'm choking on fear. It is the first real indication that tells me I don't know if I'll be able to make it through the next several days, waiting for him to die. Hoping that he won't.

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"What the hell, Peeta?" He can't hear me, and he's lucky. Because if he was anywhere near close enough to hear me yelling at him, he'd be in trouble. I'm standing, leaning so close to one of the screens that my nose is almost touching it. Vesna is meekly offering up a bow and a sheath of arrows. He's taking them from her. He's trusting her.

That's _exactly_ opposite of what I told him to do.

"The hell, Haymitch?" I demand, whirling on the old victor to see him leaning back in his chair, squinting at a screen. "What kind of strategy is she playing at?"

"Shut up," he growls, not even bothering to glance my way. "I can't hear them over the sound of your big mouth moving."

"So you make any friends at the Training Center?" Peeta asks Vesna as he draws away with the bow in his hands. I keep murmuring at him to shoot her, but he stands as steady as ever, no betrayal in the intensity of his shoulders.

Vesna shrugs. "I thought about it, but after that first day, I kind of lost interest. I work better alone. We should be pairs!"

I roll my eyes and grit my teeth against her stupidity. My anger grows every second. I guess it doesn't matter if Peeta makes it out of the arena alive because soon after that he's going to be dead. "How do I know that I can trust you?" he says.

She pouts. "Honestly, Peeta. I know you love Katniss and I'm not trying to change that. I just. . .I just want to make sure you're safe."

I grunt loudly in frustration and kick the console before I'm slamming my fist on the table. I want to punch something. Namely her. Haymitch scolds me for acting like a five year old but I'm not listening to him because I'm too busy being furious.

"That's really nice of you, Vesna," Peeta says carefully. He must know how insane this is driving me and he's doing it anyways. He's definitely a dead man.

"Right?" she says happily.

"How do I know I can trust you?" That's more like it. Although, I don't like the way he's pitying her. Did he not hear me when I clearly told him to stay away? Does he not understand English? I scowl more deeply at the screens and my fingernails bite into my palms as I clench my fists.

"I thought you might say that." She bats her eyelashes as she looks up at him. Does he notice? A hot wave of something crashes through me. Why didn't she die at the Cornucopia? "What can I do to prove it to you?"

"Don't you dare," I hiss at the screen like he can really hear me.

"We sleep separately," he says eventually. "Divide the rations evenly. Keep quiet. You stab me in the back and you'll find an arrow in your heart. Got it?"

I suck in a breath and slam my fist against the top of the console, jostling the buttons that connect us to the Avoxes and Peacekeepers. "Damn you, Peeta!" I scream.

"Calm down, sweetheart," Haymitch bellows as he slumps down farther in his chair. "He's playing up the strategy too."

I whirl on him, fire in my eyes. "You don't know Peeta like I do. He's too good for his _own_ good. He gives every damn person the benefit of the doubt; he _believes_ her. She's going to get him killed!"

Cyress looks at me evenly from his chair across the room. "You should probably take a walk, Katniss."

"That's a good idea," Haymitch agrees as he picks up his glass (I've learned that it _is_ water) and swirls around the liquid inside. "You'll only get angrier if you stay."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demand.

He rubs his face tiredly. For a moment, it's clear that he's done this far too many times than is healthy. "It means that our tributes might get cozy. Go take a walk. Get something to eat. Whatever you do, shut the hell up."

"Fine!" I exclaim. The door swings shut behind me with a resounding slam and I stomp off down the hall shamelessly. A Peacekeeper standing watch at the elevator doors notes my expression as I storm past.

"Are you okay, miss?" he asks stiffly.

"I'm fine," I snarl in a very unladylike fashion. Wherever Effie is now, she wouldn't be pleased with my manners. Well, I don't care. What are manners when Peeta is shacking up in the arena with a psychopath? If he's going to be blatantly trusting her then the Capitol knows his preference. They can have each other for all I care.

_Honestly, Peeta. I know you love Katniss and I'm not trying to change that. _Vesna's echoing words suddenly begin to cool my anger and my strides get less urgent the closer I get to the Games Center dormitory. _I know you love Katniss._ I reach for the doorknob and step inside as a seed of guilt begins to blossom at the sight of the companions in mourning. Those who have already lost their loved ones. Those who will be sent back to their districts tomorrow with a wooden casket and the bloody pieces of people who belonged to them. My head spins and I turn away from their grief for an empty bed made up with white linens.

_You love Katniss__._ I bury myself into the blankets and pull them over my head, trying to block everything out. Trying to make sense of my own thoughts. Of Peeta's actions. Nothing will make me not feel anger toward his easy compliance, but maybe Haymitch is right. Maybe I'm being too harsh.

I mean, is it true? Can he possibly love me? _Me_? What have I ever done to him to earn that level of affection? I don't know. Nothing, I guess. I've never even talked to him until just before the reaping. I barely know him, really. There's so much that I might never know and I think that's the hardest thing for me to grasp. The fact that I want so badly to have him for as long as I want, knowing that I'll never truly have him. If he wins, he will be property of the Capitol first and foremost.

I stay under the blankets for at least a good couple hours. I'm not worried about Peeta dying while I'm away; he's got his bow and arrows and as stupid as he is for trusting Vesna, she seemed weaponless. The bloodbath will have satisfied the Capitol for the day. Maybe even the next couple of days. Peeta is as safe as one could get in the arena for the night.

Honestly, I should be going back, but I feel ashamed and I don't want to face Haymitch. After a few more moments of deliberation, I just make up my mind that I won't talk to him. That solves everything.

I'm leaving the dormitory and the snuffling companions behind me when the door opens and a weary figure leers in the door way. I blush again because it's Finnick Odair. Just my luck.

He notices me instantly, but he doesn't seem quite as cheery as he had earlier. "Haymitch sent me after you," he says, which is the last thing I'm expecting.

Immediately, I'm assuming the worst. I push past him, my heart pounding frantically as bile rises in my throat. I've never been this terrified. "Is Peeta okay? What happened?"

He rushes to my side. "Whoa there, kitten. Lover Boy is alive and well. Nothing happened."

I sag a little as he grabs my wrist. As the urgency vanishes, I'm left feeling exhausted from a lack of sleep and the stress of the day. "Don't scare me like that."

He puts another hand on my opposite shoulder and begins to guide me back down the hallway. I don't know him at all and I don't trust him, but I do realize that he's lost two tributes aged twelve and fourteen today. "I should have known better, you're right. However, it's not my fault that you are automatically geared to expect the worst."

"If you grew up in District Twelve, you'd understand," I grumble.

He laughs even though we both know I shouldn't have said that out loud. The door to our District 12 room is wide open and when I enter, Cyress is missing, but Haymitch is nodding off in his chair. He straightens as Finnick and I come in and he rubs at his face.

"You look like you've cooled down," Haymitch remarks pointedly. "Thanks for rounding her up, Finnick."

Finnick salutes the older victor. "Anytime, old man." He plops down into the chair that I had been using and twirls around in it a couple times. Though he puts on a good show, I can still tell the bloodbath affected him.

In that case, the bloodbath had affected everybody. It's the starting point of the Hunger Games; of course it has an effect. But it's more than that. Since we are District 12 and both of our tributes had made themselves scarce for the most brutal part of it, all we could do was watch the console screen—not the one that connects us to sponsors, but the second one that shows the Games live on television. Watch as the tributes were murdered, listen as the screams tore through the air and the blood stained the ground.

I remember my anger when Vesna snuck up behind Glimmer, murmured something that hadn't been clear to us as the viewers. Remember as a tribute from 6 or 7 came charging at Vesna and struck the butt of a knife against her head. Remember watching Vesna scamper away with the bow and arrows, remember as Cato ran the stray tribute through with his sword. Letting Vesna go. _Watching_ her go.

Out of twenty four lights on the console, below the screens, only twelve remain glowing. Though both the District 12 lights are gleaming, it is the dead District 4 lights I stare at now. What must it feel like, I wonder, to spend two weeks preparing two young children for a deadly game that you know in your heart will never win?

"What were their names?" I say quietly, suddenly needing to know. Finnick must understand because he looks at me and offers a faint smile.

"The girl was Alaya and the boy was Trist," he says. I meet his gaze and I wonder if he remembers the name of every single District 4 tribute who has died under his mentoring in the past nine years.

"I'm sorry," I tell him.

He shrugs me off and twirls again in the chair. "It's life." And the sick thing is that dying at the age of twelve—_no_, not even that. Being murdered on a televised show at the age of twelve really _is_ life. It's our reality, here in Panem.

"Katniss," Haymitch says roughly, "leave it be."

I glare at him, but I can't muster much malice because I don't think I'll ever be able to look at Haymitch the same after this. And he's trying to keep Peeta alive. How can I be angry with someone who's just as concerned as I am with getting Peeta home with a heart beat?

Cyress strides back into the room with an Avox in tow, pushing a cart of food that is quickly placed on the table. I sit down in a new chair and find myself anxiously staring at the screen trained on Peeta while I eat. Though it is hot, and I suppose just as delicious as any other meal I've had, it's tasteless and tough as it goes down.

I watch while Peeta and Vesna go their separate ways, as he watches the sky for the dead tributes, as he stares into the dark with so many of his thoughts in his eyes. I'm a ball of knots whenever I remember just what exactly he's going through, but I also feel an unexpected rush of pride that I will probably never admit to.

After the food has been cleared away and Finnick has left, Cyress says that he'll take the first watch. I tell him that if anything happens—and I mean anything—he will come get me immediately. Haymitch has already left the room, and I'm just about to, when Cyress calls my name.

"Wait," he says.

I turn around. "What?"

He pushes out of his seat and approaches the screen that's trained on Vesna. "Someone's coming."

I rush to his side and follow his eyes. Sure enough, there is the soft sound of footsteps as Vesna sits around a small campfire she's started. I feel a surge of pity rush through me because she's about to die, but I don't hate her any less. I'm only sorry because she's never met her real parents, because she's a product of the Capitol.

Cyress and I watch the screen intently, waiting for her ambushers, but when she starts to smile I know that I've been mistaken.

"I was starting to wonder what was taking you so long," she says in a haughty, snotty voice. My stomach curls in on itself. So that's what she'd been doing, lingering at the Cornucopia to get the bow.

"Careful, Twelve. You forget who you're talking to."

She was sealing a deal with the Careers.

Cato comes to stand beside her with a hand resting on the hilt of his sword, tied through the belt loops with some cord. He smirks down at her as Glimmer, Marvel, and Clove surround Vesna, who appears unafraid.

"What the hell?" I mutter.

"Shhh," Cyress hisses.

"Where is Lover Boy?" Clove asks with a vicious sweetness that makes Vesna seem sugary and sincere in comparison. "You said you'd have him."

Vesna shrugs, but I notice that she doesn't meet their eyes. The first sign of a lie. What is she up to? My head hurts trying to figure her out. "I think I overestimated his kindness," she says. "He won't sleep near me and I don't know where he set up camp."

This _is_ a lie. I saw her watch him as he climbed into his tree and settled down. He didn't notice it, of course, but I certainly did. In fact, I was about to go crazy over it. She knows where his camp is in the trees. She can easily kill him. Right now.

The Careers start to argue and Marvel even demands that they should just kill Vesna now for wasting their time, but Cato tops them all and smiles down at her.

"No. This is a good thing," he says.

Glimmer gives a flirty laugh, but it's clear she doesn't agree. "Good?"

Cato turns to her with that smirk of overconfidence. I decide that sometime tomorrow I will find out who his companion is. I will find out who all of their companions are. It's bad that I haven't taken the time to learn who my fellow companions are or how much of a threat they pose to me and Peeta. I think Cinna or Effie must still have a program booklet left over from the opening ceremonies; surely the companions and their tributes should be listed in there.

"It means that tomorrow we can have some real fun," Cato says. He crouches down next to Vesna who stares straight into the fire. It's the first time I've seen her face so exposed and terrified. Can any of the other tributes see that right now? "No funny business, Vesna. Tomorrow you'll lead us to Lover Boy or Clove here will introduce you to her friends. You have seen her work with knives, haven't you?" He chuckles darkly and rises back to his feet.

Clove smirks and flashes a knife out for good measure. "I call this one The Dicer."

Cato nods his head back toward where they came from. "Come on. Let's head back to camp." He turns and strides out of the clearing quickly with Marvel behind him, clearly playing the role of the right hand man.

Glimmer laughs at Vesna. "You are _so_ dead," she flounces, and then prances off.

"Between you and me," Clove says with a sadistic glint in her eye, "I really hope Lover Boy doesn't show up tomorrow. I haven't had time to play with any of my new friends." She sneers once more and then she's gone too.

Cyress and I watch in silence as Vesna curls up on her side, eyes wide with terror as the tears start to fall down her cheeks silently. I'm struck speechless and as much as I hate her, her pale complexion and blonde hair bring me back to Prim. To see Vesna show this much emotion makes me feel guilty about everything I've ever said about her. Not enough to erase the hate, but still.

"She knows exactly where Peeta is," I whisper, turning to Cyress.

He drops his head into his hands and mutters. "Vesna. Damn girl. What are you doing?"

I rub at my face and back away from the screens, glancing towards the one baring Peeta's sleeping form. I've never been more confused in my life than I am right now.

"Did she just save his life?" I ask. My voice is strangled. I refuse to grasp the concept.

Cyress looks up at me in the dimness of the room. The only lights seep from the console board and the screens. "I think so."

Damn.

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Peeta stands in front of me. He smiles easily, just like he always smiles, with just the right touch of sweetness that sends a flood of warmth through me. I run toward him with my arms wide open, ready to wrap around him and never let go. He's here! God, I can't believe he's here!

Just before I can reach him, however, some unseen force stops my forward process and I'm jolted. My fingers brush against Peeta's chest as his smile disappears.

"_Katniss_," he says gently, and then he's screaming my name. "_Katniss! _Katniss!"

"_I'm here, Peeta_!" I try to say, but no sound comes out. Peeta convulses in front of me, his body shaking and then he grows cold and still, his eyes glassy as blood begins to seep out from his scalp, his nose, his eyes.

"_Peeta_!" I scream, trying to thrash my way toward him. It's no use, I don't move.

He falls forward on his face and disappears, but my anxiety and horror remain. Prim stands there, lovely and innocent as she's always been. My favorite paint from back at home is smeared across her cheeks, her hands stained red.

"_The Games will never end_," she mumbles.

"_Prim, they will! Peeta and I will be home soon_," I tell her. Still, no sound leaves my mouth.

"_The Games will never end. The Games will never end. The Games will never end_." She repeats over and over without stopping to breathe or blink. Her red hands stretch toward me.

"_Prim_!" I scream at her over her chanting. "_Prim_!"

"Katniss!"

I shudder into awareness to see Finnick and Cyress leaning over me, looking troubled. "Must have been quite the nightmare," Cyress grumbles a little harshly.

Finnick silences the sarcastic statement I'm about to throw out. "Not now, Katniss," he says, pulling my arm heftily and towing me out of bed. "We have some quality entertainment kicking our butts right now."

It's all he has to say before I've forgotten my dream and I'm running down the hall past them, past the other district rooms, and darting into the 12 room. Haymitch's leg bounces up and down as he taps the table. The tall glass of water at his elbow hasn't been touched.

"What's going on?" I demand smoothly. I'm impressed that my terror doesn't show in my voice as I take in the screens, most of which seem to be clouded over with some sort of film. Only shadowy figures can be seen through it.

"Peeta's got the Careers behind them," Haymitch says as Cyress and Finnick—who I guess has now "taken it upon himself to make sure we are fed"—puff into the room.

I frown at the images, and the muted sound of ragged coughs and heavy breathing. Shouts of chaos filling the air. "And what's behind the Careers?"

"Fire, I think," Haymitch replies in a low voice, leaning forward and covering a hand with his mouth. I think he might be muttering to himself but I'm too busy watching Peeta run for his life. He's a fast runner, and if he's ahead of the Careers then he's probably not in too much trouble, but the irony is not lost on me. I bet the Gamemakers are getting a laugh out of this one, chasing the boy who was on fire with the very thing that helped to make an impression in the Capitol.

The four of us are so caught up in the screens and my heart is beating so loudly that no one hears the door open. Or the footsteps scuffling on the marble floors.

We do, however, hear them when they speak.

Two Peacekeepers, both with their guns held securely in their hands. My guard is up immediately.

Haymitch rises to his feet. Finnick grins at them.

"Can we help you, gentlemen?" he says easily.

One Peacekeeper nods. "We're here to take Katniss Everdeen under temporary custody."

I'm immediately outraged. I jump to my feet and Cyress catches my wrist before I can push myself too far into the Peacekeepers' space. "Temporary custody? What does that mean?" I demand.

Haymitch cuts in. "Under what terms?"

The second guard's hands twitches around his gun. "That is unauthorized information."

The first Peacekeeper nods. "Sorry, rules are rules." He turns to me with a sort of smile that is gentle. The smile of a father. I look at him with dread. "President Snow wants to see you now."


	15. Chapter 15: Peeta

_**SORRY IT TOOK OVER A WEEK TO GET THIS OUT!**_

I had writer's block on it because I wasn't sure how to approach this chapter. I don't want to make the Games drag on, but I don't want them to be so short either.

I'm semi-happy with the results. I don't know why I don't really like this chapter. You must tell me if it's as awful as I think it is so that I don't write like this again! Haha. You guys have often commented on how you like the parallels to cannon in my story and I hope you appreciate the twist I've added in toward the end!

I think it's my favorite part. Badass hunter boy Peeta is just so badass.

Thoughts please! They help me write faster. I will get right on chapter 16; YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW EXCITED I AM ABOUT THAT ONE GUYS. Been seriously looking forward to it. ;)

Jeez, what's up with these super long ANs?

Enjoy!

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**Fifteen**: _Peeta_

I can't see. Can't breathe. Can't hear anything but the roar and the crackle of the fire. My heart beats in a panic. The Careers are shouting to each other behind me, but their voices are just a hum in the din. Besides, they are the least of my concern now. I run, and I run fast, because anything else will kill me.

I'm out of the thorn forest and running across the flatter, less dense terrain beyond it. I think that maybe I'm going to actually outrun the fire without incident when there is suddenly a loud boom. Instinctively, I duck my head to the side and a flaming ball soars past and explodes. I jump over a fallen tree branch, my hand clenched around my bow. Heart is flying, sprinting, pounding.

_Of course,_ I think as I choke on the thick, swirling smoke in the air. _It couldn't just be a raging wall of fire. It has to be a raging wall of fire that shoots out fireballs._

I hear another boom and launch myself behind a boulder just in time. The fireball thunders right to where I was just standing; I can't waste time. I push away from the ground and take a sharp turn to double back around and head in the direction of the river. The Careers may or may not be dead; I can't hear anything over the blaze.

As I'm running, I collide head on with a figure that suddenly looms out of the smoke. A wail of pain echoes against the wall of flames and bounces around in my head and I jump to my feet immediately before I'm taking off.

"Wait, Peeta!" she yells behind me.

I don't stop. She betrayed me. Why should I stop for her?

"Peeta!"

She's in pain. I hear it in her voice and she'll die if I leave her. The fire will eat her alive. That's what I need, her to die. I can't win if she lives. It's all for the best. I believe it. I tell myself that. A fireball flies past me, back toward her. I hear her scream. Yes. I need her to die.

"Peeta! Why'd you come back?"

I bend down and lift her arm around my neck. The fireball has grazed her left side; it's puffy and red, oozing. It's a surface burn, probably second degree, but it's painful. She does her best not to drag as I run us toward the river. It can't be too much farther now.

"I don't know," I tell her. And I really don't know. "Duck!" A boom. Another fireball. I tighten my grip on her and quicken the pace. I know I've been stupid; I know that Vesna needs to die in order for me to win this game. But it's just not in me. I know this girl; I've been in school with her for several years. I can't kill her. I can't just leave her to die, knowing that I could have done something about it.

I'll get her out of the fire. Ditch her by the river. If the Careers are still alive, they can find her and finish her off.

We scrabble through the brush and fiery trees for several more minutes before the river is in sight. I lower her into the water and she sighs in relief as the water touches her nasty burn. The fire seems to have hit an invisible wall behind us, and already the flames are dying out. I've done it. I'm unharmed.

"You saved me," Vesna says as she lays in the stream.

I squint toward the sky. It must be late afternoon already. "You didn't deserve to burn to death. No one deserves that."

She winces at me and I think she's trying to smile, but then her eyes widen and she screams. "Peeta! Look out!"

I reach for an arrow, thinking that I'm about to be assaulted by a tribute, when flames suddenly explode across my shoulder. I yell out in surprise before the pain blinds me and I stumble sideways into the river. Vesna calls out my name again as I shove my arm under the water.

"Damn it!" I clutch at my shoulder and spit water out of my mouth. Vesna pushes herself toward me, frowning, and as if it finally got what it wanted, the wall of fire disappears in an instant. Besides the pain festering at my shoulder, there is nothing but a humming silence as my ears ring.

"I told you to look out," Vesna says. There are tears cutting tracks down the smoke and dirt on her face and her voice shakes slightly. I still don't trust her, and I don't like her, but I'm glad I didn't let her die.

I shy away from her when she reaches toward me. The cold water is leeching out the heat of the burn. I'm not looking forward to having to get out of the river. Not at all. "Where are your buddies?"

She squeezes her eyes shut. "Peeta, I know this is hard to believe, but I really do want to keep you safe."

I kick farther away. "You sold me out."

She shakes her head. "You were supposed to shoot them."

"I can't take you with me, Vesna," I tell her plainly as I grip my arm below the burn. The canon suddenly goes off in the distance, a loud, resonate boom that shakes the ground. We look at each other with wide eyes and I know that whether it was the fire that killed the tribute or another tribute that killed the tribute, I have to get out of here. Now.

The pain is agony as I vault myself out of the river. I make it look like it is no effort at all. This is good. The Capitol will be impressed. As I take stock of my arrows, I decide that I won't stop to look at my wound until tonight, when I am safe. I can use the light of the seal and the tributes' face in the sky to examine it with. I don't have time now.

I count ten arrows, which is good because there are only nine tributes left, including me. One arrow for each. The odds seem to be in my favor for about two seconds until I'm realizing that I don't know where my bow is.

Vesna speaks up, sounding pathetic as ever. Does it ever get tiring, I wonder, acting so useless and irritating all the time? Maybe not. Maybe that's just the way she is. "Who do you think it was?"

I ignore this because there are more pressing matters than a dead tribute. Since when did my bow become more valuable than someone's life? "Have you seen my bow?"

She shakes her head and looks at me quizzically. "You were holding it when you got hit with the fireball."

The fireball! Damn it!

Hopelessly, I peer through the clear running water of the shallow river. Charred bits of material smolder on the opposite bank, and there is a chunk of something unnatural lodged in the rocks at the bottom of the river. I rub a hand over my face. So I've got ten arrows and no means of shooting them. Without that bow, they are about as futile as Vesna.

She sucks in air through her teeth. "Ooh. No bow? Yikes. How are you going to win now?" It's nice that she no longer bothers to hide behind a mask of stupidity, but I'm surprised by how hard and calloused her voice is.

I shoot her a look that's not entirely friendly. "I'll make it work," I snap.

She smiles bitterly at me. "I know. Can't leave Katniss all alone in the big, bad Capitol without you now, can you?"

Expression drops from my face at the mention of Katniss. If she didn't hate me before for trusting Vesna, she does now. I've saved Vesna's life and it goes without saying that Katniss had counted on that girl to die in the bloodbath. What must she be thinking, now that I've betrayed her information twice?

After those initial thoughts, I'm taken aback by Vesna's choice of words. _The big, bad Capitol._ Does she realize that the Gamemakers can send an electric shock through the river at this very moment and kill her where she lies? That a freak bolt of lightning can streak from the sky and stab through her to the ground? And who put those words in her head? It doesn't matter how tricky Vesna is; reality and several shared classes at school reveal that she's honestly not smart enough or rebellious enough to invent those ideas alone.

I tighten my grip around the straps of my backpack, sling my arrows over my good shoulder, and frown at the girl in the water. "Goodbye, Vesna."

"So what? You're going to save my life and then leave me to die? Doesn't seem like you, Peeta." She scowls at me, which only reinforces my decision.

"Only one winner," I remind her sharply, and then, for the sake of the Capitol, for the hope for sponsors to save me from the pain burning in my shoulder, and for Katniss, I show my weakness. "And my girl is waiting for me."

It's the first real time I've mentioned Katniss in the arena and it seems like a bad omen. Ugly. Wrong. Her name—her very persona—should never be in association with this place, where Careers track you down by night and walls of fire descend upon you by day.

I turn on my heel and leave Vesna stranded in the shallow water. She may or may not be able to get out of the river alone, but I don't care. Maybe she'll drown. Maybe the Careers will take care of her. I don't care. I've wasted precious time putting space between me and anyone who survived the fire and I'm going to make up for it now.

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As large as my pain threshold is, I can't do it. The festering, burning agony at my shoulder makes it impossible to run without seeing stars, and my body aches from the extremity of the past day. I've maybe only walked a mile or two before the sun is sinking and I'm forced to look for a place to camp.

Climbing a tree for the night is a necessity but it's out of the question. I can barely lift my arm, let alone support all my weight on it. I don't like it, but sleeping on the ground is the only option I have.

Reluctantly, I scan the area to look for a place to hide. My shoulder aches and I can barely stand on my feet anymore. I don't have time to be choosy, so I pick a large bush without any embellishments and set to carving out a place for me to burrow into. It's painful and I think I might pass out for all the jostling it does to my arm, but I eventually have a cavern of leaves and branches that will protect me from the sight of any tributes.

The sky that night shows that District 7's girl died this morning and District 10's boy perished in the fire. That means there is still both from 1 and 2, both from 11 and 12, and one from. . .was it 5? I frown because that means all the Careers are still kicking, but I try not to dwell on that thought. I'm too busy trying to clean out my burn to fight off any infection that might be trying to set in.

It's impossible to do. I pour some of my water from my canteen over the burn and it hurts. I try to gently brush the dirt out of the puffy mess and it hurts. No matter what I do, it hurts. There is no relief. My head is hot with sweat, my body aches from exhaustion, and everything inside me is calling for rest, but I can't sleep. Not with my shoulder scalding the way it is.

I think I am forced to wait out the night in agony when I hear a noise. A soft thud and then a gentle whoosh. It's too strange to be a tribute—no one really makes that sort of noise when they walk—so I allow myself to get my hopes up as I use my good arm to push away the branches and peer out into the darkness.

My heart jumps happily when I spot the red, blinking light that must be a little silver parachute. I want to shout out my thanks as loud as I can, but there's no telling where the other tributes are and I'm in no shape to fight them.

As quick as I can, I crawl painfully out of my hiding place and snatch up the small, metal pod before retreating. My fingers make quick work of opening it up and then I'm cupping a tin, unscrewing the lid, and dipping my fingers into a salve that must have cost a fortune to buy. I must have a lot of sponsors; maybe they're impressed with my performance so far. Or maybe they just really want to see me live to be with Katniss. Whatever the reason, I'm so grateful that I must express it, even if I'm the only one to hear it.

"Thank you, Katniss," I whisper into the dark as relief immediately spreads across my skin. I apply the medication heartily. "Thank you, Haymitch. Thank you, people of Panem." The first one is truly heartfelt, but I never thought I'd actually ever say those last two.

After the medicine is on my skin, the absence of the fiery pain allows real drowsiness to swoop in. I sag into my sleeping bag, keeping one hand on my sheath of arrows, as I let my eyelids droop and close. I see her when there is nothing but blackness there. I see those memories I made with her in the Capitol, the words we shared before the Reaping. Nothing has ever made me want something so badly before.

I'll admit it, I shouldn't have saved Vesna. That was a stupid move, but I'm sure that even if I could go back in time, I would have done the same thing. I was right; no one deserves to be burned alive. But surely Katniss would understand, if I could explain it to her. The Gamemakers can push and pull all they want, but I'm not going to change who I am for the sake of their entertainment. Vesna is just a kid. We're all just kids. No one should be in here. No one should die.

Well, I tell Katniss. If I win. I'll tell her why it's so hard for me to wrap my mind around ending someone's life. Why should I make that decision? Why should anybody get to make that decision for them? The Gamemakers—no, the Capitol—has screwed everyone over in this aspect.

Thinking of Katniss reminds me of home. As far as I'm concerned, she _is_ home, whether it be in the Capitol, in the Seam, or in the arena. With my eyes closed, I can almost imagine that faint whiff of vanilla and sugar that perpetually seems to cling to her skin, almost hear her voice as she sighs or laughs.

My heart clenches painfully. God, how I miss her. It's only been two days and already I'm grasping for visions of the end. I content myself as I picture our reunion, running to her, holding her, smelling her, telling her that I love her. The thoughts are so potent that I forget I'm in the arena, battling for my life in the 74th annual Hunger Games, as I drift to sleep.

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It's healed. Actually, fully, one-hundred percent healed.

I stare at my shoulder in the full brightness of the day, craning my neck to get a good look at all the scar tissue. My fingers find the ridges where yesterday skin was peeling back and singeing, where infection has probably begun to set in. Today, there is only a mass of ugly, twisting creases. When I press on them, I feel only a deep throb of dull pain.

I knew last night that I would be in Haymitch's debt, but I didn't expect him to totally out-do himself like this.

The scar puts me in a far better mood than yesterday and I feel an extra bounce in my step after I've smothered my shoulder in the salve once more and have packed up. Not only am I feeling hardly any pain, but I also have a better chance of defending myself if attacked. It's fantastic.

I devote the day to hunting. Since I have no bow, I have to set up snares that Gale and I have spent hours perfecting. The sun is burning hot in the morning, but as I'm collecting the animals that hang dead from my traps hours later, the afternoon has grown chilly. Wind seems to whistle through the trees from every direction.

Before the sun can set, I cook my kill and stomp out the ashes when I'm done. Though I've tasted delectable Capitol cuisine only days before, I don't think anything has tasted quite as good as this rabbit leg. The grease runs off my chin and I wipe my mouth off with my sleeve before hungrily devouring the next one.

I grin as I swallow, my mouth coated in juices. "This is for you, Effie!"

Katniss will get a kick out of that, if nothing else.

By the time the sun is gone, I feel nothing. Ice has begun to set in on the trees, and as I climb up a couple branches to make camp for the night, the wind turns less friendly than before. No longer is it a chilly breeze; it is a sharp, angry gust that whips the snow that falls from the sky. I settle into a sheltered nook, the wind at my back, and pull my hood up over my head.

Portia had been right about the temperature changes. My jacket reflects my own body heat, but even so, my teeth chatter as the night wears on. I doze fitfully, but there is no way that I actually get all the rest my body needs. When morning dawns, I tell myself that I will walk half a day, and then find somewhere warmer to camp for the night.

I check my supplies. I've got two more rabbits and if I'm frugal that will last me a couple of days. My canteen is full of water and even if it wasn't, I'm not too worried about dehydrating. A thick blanket of snow coats the ground and I'm pleased to find that my boots are mostly waterproof and they keep my toes warm.

The next couple of days pass slowly. I meet no other tributes and the canon never sounds. This means that the cold weather hasn't killed anyone yet, if that was the Gamemakers reason for turning that nice and toasty thermostat off. This sets me on edge.

After the second day of inaction, I'm on my guard at every moment, an arrow clutched in my icy hands. The third day passes without incident and I know as I decide to sleep that night in a rock crevice to block the gales that must be have the force of a hurricane, that something must happen tomorrow. The Capitol will be restless; they'll be waiting for more bloodshed.

I sleep as much as I can, the sleeping bag pulled up over my head.

When the sun breaks over the horizon, I scramble out of the crevice and pack up for another long day of hiking ahead of me, desperate to get out of there before the Gamemakers decide to intervene.

Turns out that they don't have to. Or maybe they did. Whatever the case may be, my ears are still picking up the distant hooting of laughter and deadly taunting. I look over my shoulder in dread at the foot prints I've left in the snow. I'm as good as dead unless I can find a way to escape out of here without leaving marks.

I don't have time now. The voices are gaining quickly and I'm beginning to be able to pick out actual words. I sling my backpack and arrows over my shoulder and take off deeper into the forest, as fast as I can while I hike my knees up to avoid the way the snow will drag me down.

A part of me is bitter about having to run for my life. If I had my bow, I wouldn't have to run; I could stand my ground and end these Games. Well, for the most part. I haven't seen a trace of Districts 5 or 11, but they're out there.

"Stop right there, Lover Boy."

My heart slams against my rig cage as I screech to a halt. Marvel and Glimmer stand proudly before me with wicked smiles on their faces and my stomach sinks. It was a trap.

"Nice day," I say mildly.

Glimmer looks at my questioningly but Marvel cuts her off. "Nice try," he snarls. "We got him, Cato!"

I glance nervously at the spear in Marvel's hand. Long, deadly, sharp. I know that he could kill me right now if he wanted to, but he's not. The danger of the situation is not lost on me and the fear wants to come screaming out of me but I tighten my grip on the two arrows in my hand and glare at District 1.

Gale always told me I have a way with words. Fancy ways that aren't normally bred into Seam children. Maybe I can turn that in my favor.

"What, you're not allowed to kill without him?" I say archly, trying to keep the obviousness from my voice. My heart sprints and I know that one wrong word will kill me on the spot.

Glimmer scowls at me. "Shut up."

I hold my hands up in surrender, still clutching those arrows. "I mean no offense. It just seems odd."

"Cato!" she screams as Marvel sets his eyes on me. He's listening to me.

"I mean, you're not allowed to kill without him on site? You do realize how stupid that is, right? He's going to run you right through with his sword the first chance he gets." I angle myself toward a tall tree slowly. Cato answers from somewhere behind me and I know that I only have so much time to make my escape.

_Oh, Katniss, how am I going to get out of this one?_

"Cato wouldn't do that," Marvel states deliberately. "We have a deal."

I raise an eyebrow. "A deal? You think that means something to him? Look around, Marvel. You're in the middle of the Hunger Games and there's only one winner."

Glimmer looks scared now, as if the realization has just dawned on her. She draws her knife and points it at me. It swings far too close to my unassuming hands for my comfort. "I said, shut up! Cato!"

"You got him?" Cato calls back faintly. He sounds excited and my stomach churns sickeningly. The only reason that I'm not dead right now isn't only because Cato demands to be there on the scene of the death. It's also because they don't plan on killing me quickly.

"I think your tongue is going to be first to go," Marvel growls out at me.

I shrug as if this doesn't bother me when in actuality, I feel a tremor of goosebumps race along my arms. "Fine. It's your funeral."

Cato comes crashing through the last of the brush and snow with Clove close on his heels. Both of them grin when they see me cornered with my back to the tree, but I can only see half of their faces. I'm not as scared as I thought I would be, and that's because Marvel and Glimmer aren't watching me. They're watching District 2.

"Move on over," Cato says to Marvel as he brandishes his sword.

Marvel bristles. "No. I got this one."

Cato immediately tenses and points his weapon in District 1's direction. "He set the fire down on us. I kill him." His face slides a little more to the left and my eyes widen in surprise when I see it.

The skin on his face is scarily identical to the scar tissue on my shoulder. Cato almost died in that fire; he must have sponsors that sent him the same medicine I got. No wonder he wants me dead. No wonder he orders that he do the killing. The Capitol works medical wonders, but can it possibly fix a scar as hideous as that?

I'm in some really deep—

"I found him," Marvel insists through gritted teeth. "He's mine." Cato shifts his weight as if to lunge forward and the other boy counters the movement.

Clove clears her throat as she spins a knife on her fingers. "I know a way we can settle this."

Both of the boys look quickly at her. "What?" they demand angrily.

"Let me at him," she suggests darkly.

"Wait a minute!" Glimmer cries. "If Clove gets to kill him, I want to kill him!"

"Clove isn't killing anyone!" Cato thunders. "Lover Boy is mine!"

I press my back up against the tree, waiting for the words to turn into deadly actions when I hear a faint rustle of the tree branches above us. I look up into the frozen leaves and see a small mass moving among them nearly thirty feet up. It freezes and then two dark eyes are peering down at me. A finger is pressed to their lips and then it points to a big, papery looking bag hanging at the end of a branch at least another twenty feet above the figure.

My fear gets thick in my throat when I recognize the sack looking thing and I brace myself as the Careers' voices get louder and louder, the weapons getting pushier and pushier. Would they noticed if I slipped away? Surely they would. I wouldn't make it very far either, not with that sword. Not with those spears.

I glance back up at the figure as it shimmies up the tree toward the tracker jacker nest. It must Rue, I think. The size and shape are slender and wispy. It's no wonder that she found us—the Careers are making enough noise to wake the dead—but she got here rather quickly for the size of the arena. Has she been following them? Has she been following _me_?

I can't help the yelp that escapes my lips when a knife suddenly lodges in the tree bark only inches from my face. Glimmer cries out angrily as Clove snarls and I realize that the District 1 girl has just inadvertently saved my life. I grip the handle of the blade and yank it out of the wood. At least I'm not weaponless any longer—it's not like my bowless arrows were going to do any good.

A cry of pain comes from far above us, but the Careers are too absorbed to notice.

"I SAID HE'S MINE!" Marvel crows as he raises his spear. "Who says you get to call all the shots?"

"WE MADE A DEAL!" Cato roars back, thrusting the sword at District 1. "You let me lead and I let you live!"

Marvel lets out a cry of frustration and the spear is about to go flying when suddenly the brown sack is falling through the sky. I push away from the tree and take off immediately, knowing that even if they notice, I'm about to be the least of their worries.

The nest cracks open and a hoard of tracker jackers is unleashed on the arena. My head start doesn't do me much good; soon I'm yelling at the pain and swatting away the insects as I make my escape. My cries blend in with that of the Careers, but I am long forgotten.

And I thought that burning pain in my shoulder was bad? It is nothing compared to this and it is throbbing in so many places on my body that I'm afraid I've failed.

_I'm sorry, Katniss. I tried._

_I love you._

I run for as long as I can, even when the buzzing has stopped and the bugs are no longer clouding around me. My joints ache and my vision wavers. I stumble into a tree and I know that I've been stung. Multiple times. The deadly poison has made a home in my blood and I know that it's a matter of minutes before I'm either dead or hallucinating.

And when Gale—headless and bloody—comes crashing through the trees screaming like a banshee, I'm well enough to understand that it's the latter, though that can change in a heartbeat. My knees crumble and the last thing I see before I hit the ground is a splatter of blood and the bright golden wing of a butterfly.


	16. Chapter 16: Katniss

Whoa jeez. I'm sorry again. My life just spontaneously decided to get hectic. Huzzah for unpredictability. You have every right to be angry with me for keeping this chapter hostage for such an extended amount of time—trust me, I understand.

I LOVE THIS CHAPTER THOUGH.

Mostly because I love writing all this stuff about the Capitol and Katniss and Finnick and Haymitch and aobivabshvwelgh. SO MUCH FEELS.

Kay. Tell me what you think? I'll try to get the next chapter out sooner, I promise!

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**Sixteen**: _Katniss_

It turns out that "_temporary custody_" is just a euphemism for "_you're in deep trouble, so get yourself into high gear and move it_" because as soon as I willingly step from the room, the Peacekeepers secure each of my arms with their hands and hold their weapons at the ready.

Finnick insists on tagging along when I've been dragged about halfway down the hall as he steps out of the room. A part of me realizes that he wants to help me and I'm grateful, but an even bigger part of me realizes that Haymitch is sending him to keep me safe again. Not that I need a babysitter. The unexpected rush of gratitude surprises me.

The Peacekeepers are adamant that I go alone, but they freeze when Finnick leans in and whispers to them. "Do I need to remind you boys of that night you spent with 63? I'm sure your wives would love to hear that story."

I'm confused about this for a second until I realize that Finnick is mentioning the victor of the 63rd Hunger Games. I try to recall who that is, but I'm too full of anxiety and nerves to bring up a clear picture. Every cell in my body strains to return to the District 12 room where Peeta is running from the fire, where I should be right now.

"How did you know about that?" one of the Peacekeepers demands, forgetting himself for a moment and letting the composure slip from him. His horror is obvious.

Finnick's eyebrows draw in and he looks menacing, which I didn't really think was possible. His voice loses its joking edge and grows dark. "I have my ways. What'll it be?"

The other Peacekeeper simply grumbles and the other follows suit. They don't complain as Finnick follows us down the hall like a ghost—silent, but there. I try to tell myself that this isn't a big deal, that all the companions get the opportunity to have a friendly conversation with Snow, but it's all futile.

I'm in trouble. I don't know what I've done—I've been so careful to play by the rules so as to keep Peeta's appearances shiny for the arena. My stomach is all fluttery with nerves and I can't decide if I'm more nervous that I'm about to be alone in a room with Snow or if it's that I can no longer see Peeta breathing and surviving on a screen.

I don't know what I was expecting, but I feel myself turn inside out when I'm escorted out the doors of the Games Center and into a waiting vehicle that purrs by the curb of the glittery sidewalk. How can they do this to me; take me away from the Games? They know—surely, they know!—how much Peeta means to me. And even if that is dangerous information, why would they take me away from him at _this moment_ in the Games? My chest is aching and hollow. I don't know what that means, but it's uncomfortable and gets worse the longer I'm away from the D12 room.

Finnick slides in next to me on the plush, cool seats of the vehicle. The Peacekeepers sit at the far end of the car and while their weapons are loosely pointed at us, they largely ignore us. The doors are closed and then we are off. I keep my expression as steely as I can because even if there aren't cameras trained on me right now, I don't want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing how desperate this is making me.

"Technically, I'm breaking the rules to do this," Finnick whispers as the Peacekeepers begin to converse loudly with each other who they are betting on for the Games. Their total lack of concern that I'm going to attack is unnerving and I find that it makes me angry that I'm so underestimated.

I look up at Finnick with a scowl. "I didn't ask you to come. So whatever trouble you get into is not my fault."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm not blaming you, Katniss. Don't get your undies into such a twist." His voice is slightly patronizing, but he reaches for my hand and I surprise myself by squeezing his back. I find that I_ do_ trust him, and I can't recall any of the reasons why I decided that I wasn't going to in the first place.

"I don't get it," I say softly, staring at my knee, trying to be inconspicuous as the Peacekeepers laugh about something. "Why just me? Why not Cyress, too?"

Finnick shakes his head. "Our beloved president sees and hears everything in his Capitol. If you so much as muttered blasphemy in your sleep, your credit is shot."

I think to all the dreams I've had since getting on that train back in 12 and I can't remember a single instance where the Capitol has crossed my sleep. It was always Prim and the Games and Peeta and my parents, and even Madge. I can't even recall if I've ever said something when I thought it was safe that President Snow would take offense to. I've been so careful for Peeta's sake. _So_ careful.

"But what if I did none of those things?" I ask dryly. I lean more into his warmth and my gratitude grows even more. He's doing a fantastic job at keeping my thoughts in a place where I can read them. I try to imagine how I would be feeling now if I didn't have Finnick next to me and I can't decide if I'd be yelling at the Peacekeepers or frantically holding down last nights dinner.

Finnick glances at the Peacekeepers, who are still paying us no attention, before leaning down to whisper in my ear. "Snow likes to play Games, if you hadn't noticed it by now. I'm so sorry that you had to get tangled up in this and I wish I could help you more, but I'm still trying to untangle myself."

My eyes grow wide. _Finnick Odair_. I mean, obviously, I know that he is thrown around the Capitol bedrooms like a ragdoll plaything, but prior to now I've had no reason to suspect that he is in _trouble_. What did he do? Why is Snow so mad that Finnick is "trying to untangle" himself? Questions pelt at me and I'm desperate to ask them, but before I can really say anything, the Peacekeepers notice that we've had a private exchange and one of them scowls, jabbing his gun at me.

"What did he say to you?" he orders loudly as he waves his weapon.

"None of your business!" I exclaim with a clumsy tongue as my cheeks turn rosy from rage. Why do they think they get to know everything about me? They have no right to that!

Finnick smirks and straightens away from me. "I was just asking if she was interested in seeing me for a private session with _my _Gamemaker after the Games are over, if she can afford."

I'm immediately appalled and I want to scream how I would never do something like that, but I bite down on my tongue until I taste blood and let my cheeks turn as pink as they please. Finnick is covering for us in the only way that won't require further explanation. I need to accept that, even if it scandalous and racy.

The Peacekeeper suddenly relaxes but he grimaces at us. "Just keep your mouths shut."

We do. The rest of the ride—which is much longer than I'd hoped it would be—is silent. Even the Peacekeepers are quiet, choosing to watch us closely now. Maybe they only partially believe Finnick's cover-up. I notice that they especially watch how my hand is clasped in his. I don't care what they think but a part of me wonders if it's such a big deal, to hold Finnick Odair's hand.

When we finally reach our destination, I'm pulled out of the backseat of the car roughly and my stomach flips more than once in dread as I recognize the mansion—no, it's more than that; it must be at least a palace. It shines with the masonry and luxury of all of Districts 1 and 2, and the lovely rose bushes creep out from the expansive garden beyond the back of it. Look to the left and there is the City Circle, where Peeta made his dazzling debut in the fire suit.

An Avox opens the door for the Peacekeepers with her head down and another one just inside gestures for us to follow him. My arms are kept in a tight hold by both of the Peacekeepers and Finnick follows closely behind. My expression is like stone and I keep it that way as I'm led through a few passage ways that I was introduced to just about a week ago.

Finnick is strictly ordered to remain in the sitting room and he does so without complaint. I guess that even he realizes that there are some boundaries you just can't cross. He offers me a smile as I'm taken out of his sight and I take it with me because he is all I have right now. In a lot of ways, his kindness reminds me of selfless Madge. The sudden thought of her sends a pang of sorrow for me and I realize just how much I miss her.

The Peacekeepers all but force me through the study door and then I'm standing there in front of him. He looks a lot less pleasant than the first time I met him, but I guess that's because he was putting on a show that night. Thin lips pressed into a straight line, eyebrows blandly twitching above his eyes. The rose scent in the room is so pungent that I feel sick to my stomach.

I must be brave. Peeta's life rides on me.

"President Snow," I say formally, bobbing my head. "An honor." Actually, I'm terrified. Not only because I don't know what I've done, but because I know that he is unpredictable in a predictable way. It takes everything I have to stand my ground.

Something flashes in the man's eyes, but I can't read it. He gestures to the velvet seats before his desk with a grand flourish. "Miss Everdeen, do please have a seat." As I take his invitation—which I feel is more of an order—he looks over my shoulder at the Peacekeepers. "That will be all. Wait down the hall so that she may have an escort when we are through."

"Yes, sir," one nods. They bow out of the room, the doors shutting behind them, and then I'm alone with Snow. I swallow the thick lump of emotion in my throat and force myself to smile.

"You wanted to speak to me, sir?" I say. It's taking every bit of my restraint not to spit at him.

He smiles politely. "I did. How has your stay in the Capitol been so far? I do hope everything is as satisfactory as we boast it to be."

"Of course," I say, feeling mildly confused. Is that what he dragged me away from Peeta to discuss? How I like the Capitol?

His smile never wavers. "I'm having quite a hard time believing you."

"Sir? I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." My expressionless mask can't help but bare my bewilderment. There is no possible way he can know of my hatred for his Capitol. I've never said it anywhere near him or his manor, I'm sure of that.

Snow reaches for a strange device with a variety of colored buttons and presses the first one. A static buzz echoes in the air. "Maybe this will jog your memory," he says.

A muffled voice comes through. The buzzing dies and I'm surprised at the rush it gives me when I hear Peeta say something unintelligible. Then, my voice is coming through and I know without looking that my face turns white.

"I hate the Capitol, Peeta," I'm saying vehemently. "Do you have any idea what the thought of the reaping is doing to Prim? She's scared to death and there's nothing I can do to protect her! I'm powerless and I can't stand it. I wish they'd all die; better yet! I wish they all went into the Games so that they knew what it felt like to be so terrified!"

Peeta replies and Snow raises an eyebrow at me as I stare at the device with wide eyes and a sick stomach. "Katniss, shhh. I know this is bad and we're all scared, but you can't say things like that out here; someone will hear you."

"Let them hear! I don't care!"

"You're being irrational."

Snow clicks a button. "You should have listened to Mr. Mellark."

I swallow what is sure to be last nights' dinner and force myself to meet his eyes. The words I said to Peeta in the Naked Nook were never supposed to go beyond the drooping boughs of the willow tree. There must be at least five other conversations just like this one. I don't know how Snow got them, but suddenly, I realize that nothing I say is ever safe. Ever.

"Peeta was right, sir," I say as innocently as possible. "I was being irrational. It won't happen again."

Snow sighs and clicks another button. "But it already has, my dear."

The sound on this one is much fuzzier and there are two low voices conversing in jumbled mutters, but then my voice rings out, angry and clear, "I wish there was a way to throw this back in their faces!" I'm brought back to just yesterday when Cyress shared Vesna's secret and I'm so grateful that this is all Snow has heard. Even if it is pretty incriminating.

He presses on the button once more and then folds his hands in front of him. "So you see, Miss Everdeen, I'm in a state of distress really. I pride myself on being a good host to those from the districts when they have the opportunity to visit my Capitol. I'm very disappointed to hear that you don't like my generous accommodations."

I blink at him and try to keep the sickness in my stomach from churning, to keep the scowl that will hide my nerves from my face. "I'm sorry."

He laughs at me, a brittle old laugh that wedges under my skin. "No you're not."

My face hardens. My heart pounds. Have to hide my feelings; he can't know what I feel. Too dangerous. "What do you _want_ me to say, sir? The Games are on, and I can' afford to be spending my time away from the screens."

"You want to be a part of the Games that desperately, do you?" he mumbles and then smiles at me. I have to maintain eye contact, but looking at him is difficult. He reminds me so much of the snakes that slither through the sooty lanes back home. Prim is afraid of those, too. "Be careful what you wish for, Miss Everdeen."

"Then what do you want with me?"

"I only wanted to warn you," he tells me, and then leans forward with a glint in his eyes. He doesn't look so jovial anymore. "All the eyes of the Capitol are on you and your District Twelve tributes, Miss Everdeen, surely you know that. You are single-handedly the most influential person a part of the Games this year. Everyone is simply enthralled by the love triangle of District Twelve—how the Drannels girls has harbored feelings for Mr. Mellark for a long time, how Mr. Mellark has been in love with you since early childhood, how you jumped on the train without his permission to be his companion and then declared your colors during that first interview. If word reaches the districts that you feel so strongly against my hospitality, things will get uncomfortable for you very quickly, I can promise you that."

I don't feel as tough as I want to, even though I'm speaking farther out of line than I should. "Don't tax yourself, sir," I say stiffly, biting out my words.

He simply smiles at me. "It's not taxing at all, my dear. Why, do you know what would happen if I were to press this button?" He poises a finger and while I honestly have no clue what would happen, I suddenly get this feeling that it either involves Prim or Peeta and I'm not willing to take that risk. I'd die first.

"I understand," I say softly, backing off, admitting defeat.

He moves away from the buttons and leans back in his chair with a self-satisfied smile. "Good. That is all, Miss Everdeen. You may go now." I wonder how many other people he plans on terrifying today. I rise mechanically out of the velvet chair and hurry to the doors with calculated steps.

Maybe it's not a good idea to antagonize the president of Panem, but I can't help myself with I turn at the doors, bow deeply, and remark cuttingly, "Thank you, for your generosity."

He even looks like a snake when he smiles. "Not at all, my dear. Not at all."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"He threatened you. Big whoop. He threatens me constantly and you don't see me whining about it."

"Finnick, he wasn't just threatening me. He means to go after Prim and Peeta if I'm not careful. He didn't say so, but I know it. How could I have been so careless? All because I can't keep my big, fat mouth shut, he's going to destroy everything I care about."

"You can't let it bother you, kitten," he says gently, laying a hand on my shoulder. The Peacekeepers are studiously ignoring us for each other and I feel my leg bounce up and down. Did Snow press that button? Is Peeta dead now?

"You don't understand," I mutter, casting my eyes downward.

Finnick sighs and leans closer until his lips are at my ear. "Trust me, Katniss, I can completely relate. Now is not the time for that particular story, but you should work on keeping that big, fat mouth of yours shut. Especially when you talk about things you don't even know."

I stiffen because I didn't mean to offend him, but before I can mumble out an apology, the Peacekeepers are glaring at us again.

Finnick pulls away and smirks easily. "Just finalizing the transaction for our one-on-one, good fellows. No need for violence here."

They look away uncomfortably and I try my very best not to blush.

Haymitch stands up abruptly when Finnick and I are all but pushed into the District 12 room. The Peacekeepers mumble their parting words and then the door is shut behind us. The anxiety held up in my body is relentless and Haymitch raises an eyebrow at us. I know he wants an explanation but this isn't about him or me or anyone else in the room.

"Well?" he says.

"How is Peeta?" I ask as I scurry toward the screens and search them. Peeta is hacking his way into a bush and I can't help but wonder why he'd settle for a bush instead of a tree and then I see the puffy, angry skin on his shoulder where his jacket has been completely burnt off. My throat tightens, but he's alive and that's all I could have hoped for at this point. All the tension in my body releases and I collapse into a chair.

"Answer me, sweetheart."

I look over at Haymitch and the expression on his face tells me that Peeta isn't the only one in danger. I guess I understand that now.

"Can't," I say a little bitterly, remembering Snow's words. "Else I might get into even more trouble."

Haymitch looks to Finnick, who grins. "Yes she is in a bit of a tangle, but I make an excellent body guard. Maybe I should enroll to be a Peacekeeper."

The District 12 mentor sighs. "Explain."

So Finnick repeats what I've told him. I catch Cyress looking over at me from Vesna's screen. He hasn't really said much to me since yesterday in the bathroom, but his eyes are drawn in with concern. He mouths, "are you okay?" and I nod subtly enough not to attract Haymitch's attention. My eyes go back to the screen, where they stay until Finnick is done speaking.

Haymitch sighs and rubs at his face tiredly. "You should have just stayed in Twelve where you belong. You're hurting the boy more than you're helping him."

I clench my hands into fists, but my eyes never waver as I watch Peeta scramble into the bush, clearly holding back how much his injury is hurting him. "I'm doing everything I can to keep him safe," I say coldly, "which is why we are going to send him burn cream."

Cyress and Finnick blanch at this. They good and well know that burn cream isn't cheap, and dipping into whatever Peeta has in his sponsorship account is risky business, especially since it's only the second day. They both start to list off the things that could go wrong later down the road, when his life is in immediate danger.

But, to my surprise, Haymitch doesn't side with them. He just gives me a long look and then nods, his shoulders dropping. "Just waiting for nightfall. It's more difficult for another tribute to see the parachute and steal it that way," he says.

My heart jumps hopefully in my chest as Finnick steps up to the port screen at the console. And here I thought that Haymitch would be half the battle! "You mean, you think it's a good idea?"

He smiles slightly, as if he can't help himself. It's not exactly genuine, but it's not too bitter either. "He's either gonna die of infection or some tribute is gonna come along and kill him if we don't get him medication he needs."

Finnick whistles, his fingers skimming along the screen surface. "I know I've only been a mentor for nine years, but even I've never seen this much money in one account." He looks up at me. "Your boyfriend has enough sponsorship to get him ten tins of burn cream."

Cyress looks excited. "That much? Why don't we send him a bow while we're at it, since it got blasted by that fireball?" No one questions his enthusiasm to help Peeta and that makes me feel better. It means that no one has to explain where his loyalties lie. Maybe it's not such a big surprise; Vesna is absolutely insufferable.

Still, Peeta lost his bow? This is news to me, because Snow has taken me away from this room at that crucial moment. I'm about to agree with Cyress because I think that is a great idea, when Haymitch shakes his head. "No can do."

"Why not?" I demand hotly. Peeta's best shot is having a bow and if his mentor is going to be pigheaded about sending him a new one then what chance does Peeta have of making it out of the arena alive?

"Because," Finnick says, "the Gamemakers don't just allow weapons to be dropped in for the tributes at any time. If that were the case, do you know how virtually impossible it would be to take out the Careers?"

I roll my eyes. "They win every year anyways."

"Not this year," Cyress comforts me, even though I don't want to be comforted. I hate sitting here watching Peeta go through this. He's the best one out of this group assembled in the room; if anyone should be in the arena, it should be me. My eyes flick back to the screen. He's inside the bush now, but he lays precariously on his shoulder, wincing and muttering to himself—words so low that I can't hear them.

More than anything, I hate that there is nothing I can't be there to remind him that he has something to live for. To avoid crying, I glare at the screen. "We have to send him the medicine."

"Not now, sweetheart," Haymitch snaps back at me. "There are too many people nearby." He points over to Vesna's screen near Cyress and grudgingly, I look over at it. My stomach does a strange combination of curdling and falling when I see that she is limping through the trees, Marvel's arm wrapped around her waist.

"You're so pathetic," he snaps at her. "Don't know why we don't just kill you off and get it over with."

She growls at him impressively. "Because I'm your best shot at finding Peeta, half-wit."

"That girl has got to die," I growl. She's too dangerous to be left alive; I don't know what her game is and that's what's freaking me out.

Haymitch plops back down into his chair and runs a hand through his greasy hair. This is the first time I've noticed how exhausted he looks—the first time I've really understood that he hasn't slept in over two days. "Peeta saved her life while you were gone."

There go all my sympathetic thoughts. "_What_?"

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

I can't sleep. It's impossible to sleep now, impossible to do anything really. I know for a fact that I've lost a couple pounds since Peeta got sent into the arena a week ago, and I didn't have much to lose. Haymitch said the best thing for me to do at this point was get some rest while there was downtime—while the tributes suffered from their tracker jacker attack—but I'm thinking that it's pointless.

The last I saw of Peeta before Cyress all but forced me to come down to the dormitory was his back arching as the venom worked through his blood stream, his face damp, mouth open in a silent scream. Just remembering makes my eyes sting and I bury deeper under the blankets, trying to take deep breaths. I want to save him, but I can't do that from here.

I have been President Snow's perfect picture of an obedient young adult. The most I say these days I only say to Finnick or Haymitch or Cyress—even Cinna on occasion—and even then, my words are shallow and meaningless. They think it's because I'm sick at the prospect of what Peeta is enduring. That's partially true. If only they could understand the threat that Snow gave me—that glimmer in his eye that promised pain and torture.

Peeta could die at any minute. And it will be all my fault.

Tears leak from my eyes and I hug my arms closely around my body in the cocoon of sheets I've created for myself. I haven't cried in a long time, but here where no one can see them, I am safe to show my pain. If it wasn't such an awful thing—being in pain without any physical limits—then perhaps it would have felt good to unleash these feelings.

_Feelings_. It was better when I pretended not to have any.

Without warning, my bed shifts. I don't know how I know it's him, I just do.

"Shouldn't you be monitoring Peeta?" I say. Thankfully, the emotion is void from my voice, though the tears are steady.

"Don't worry about that," he tells me gruffly. "The kid is fine."

I sigh and hug myself tighter. "What do you want, Haymitch?"

An awkward hand begins to pat where my hip is. While it's strange, I feel a sort of release in me because I know I'm not the only one that has difficulty expressing emotions. In fact, he may be even worse than I am, and that's saying something; though Peeta seems to be bringing out a tenderness and a vulnerability in me that I didn't know I could possess.

"I'm not good with this kind of thing. It's been almost twenty-five years since I was in Peeta's place, and I'm almost numb enough to forget it half the time. The other half I just work on getting there." He pauses and I think he's rubbing his face. "You're stronger than Snow gives you credit for."

I laugh without humor. "Actually, its opposite," I say bitterly. "He overestimates me."

"He only overestimates your influence on the districts, if what you said is true," he tells me.

I'm not buying that. "Was there a point you were trying to make?"

He sighs tiredly. "That boy is out there fighting for you."

"He's _dying_ because of me."

"He's not gonna die, sweetheart," he growls out. "I'm bringing that damn kid home if it's the last thing I do."

I wipe the tears from my face and throw the covers back so that I can glare at Haymitch with my full intensity. "I still don't understand why you came in here."

He rises from the bed and gives me a look. "I came in here to tell you not to give up on this. Don't you dare be selfish and give into. . .you know." He makes a flourish awkwardly and does a little eye roll.

I push myself into a sitting position and scowl. "What, you mean like getting too drunk to function before breakfast is even over?" It's a low blow and I know it, but I don't take it back. Haymitch has no right to come in here and tell me that I'm selfish after all I've done for Peeta. I gave up my home, my sister, my parents. . .everything that was safe and familiar to me is gone because I decided that Peeta's needs were greater than my own. Even if a part of me knew I had to tag along for my sake.

Haymitch glowers. "Something like that."

Cyress' head suddenly pops into the room and there is sort of a sad smile about his face, interrupting my stand-off with the District 12 victor. As we both look at Cyress, I feel a small amount of guilt running through me for treating Haymitch so harshly. He's clumsy in his delivery, but maybe he's trying to be comforting. I don't know. I can't figure people out for the life of me.

"You're gonna want to see this, Katniss," Cyress says.

Moments later, I'm in the 12 room, holding back tears as a dark-skinned girl kneels down beside Peeta, brushing the hair back from his sweat-covered face, from the lumps of the tracker jacker stings. She pulls the stingers out and chews on some leaves before pressing the wad against his injuries.

"She's already treated the other ones," Finnick says, watching the scene seriously. There is a quiet in the room that I feel must extend around the whole of Panem as the girl—who I remember to be Rue—shows kindness to a boy who could have very well died and strengthened her chances of winning. It is in this girl that I see the kind of selflessness that Haymitch suggests.

"You're going to be alright, Peeta," Rue says softly as Peeta pants and winces, shakes and trembles. He must be locked in some kind of illusion and I ache to know what kind of pain he's going through. I would put it on myself if I could. "These leaves will draw out the poison." She takes the sleeve of her jacket and wipes away the perspiration on his face.

"_Katniss_," Peeta mumbles, tossing his head to the side.

I sit in a chair and press my fingers to my mouth, too weak to pretend to be strong.

Rue smiles slightly, but her eyes are sad as she continues to wipe his face off gently. The four of us in the room can't seem to find our voices, no matter how long the minutes drag. My lips are trembling, but no one can see because I hide it with my hand. I hate feeling so emotional. Caring for someone like I care for Peeta is exhausting and dangerous, even if it is well worth the risk.

Rue stays by Peeta's side all through the night, only wandering a couple yards away to gather any plants that are edible enough to eat, or that aren't dusted in snow and ice. She bravely curls into his side and shares her body heat with him when the night grows cold and shudders into him, sleeping only like a cat does. It gets harder not to cry with each passing minute because I can't bare the thought of this little girl—no bigger than Prim—being murdered for entertainment's sake.

The sun brings a warm enough day that the snow begins to melt. Cyress orders a breakfast. We eat without tasting. I'm trying not to watch the screens—an impossibility—because every moment I spend watching Rue caring for Peeta is another moment where I feel my rage and anguish with the Capitol rearing up. Where I feel words that will no doubt have disastrous effects roll to the tip of my tongue.

Peeta mumbles my name throughout the day and Rue changes the slobbery wads of leaves, singing softly and promising him that he'll see me again soon.

This is the day my heart breaks. The day my tears can't be stopped.


	17. Chapter 17: Peeta

**WOW! Hi guys! Long time, no see, huh? No, your eyes aren't playing tricks on you; I really did update Just My Luck! I've always had the intentions of carrying on with this story, so even if it takes me years, I hope you're willing to stick with me until the very end.**

**And yes, I know this is a short chapter, but writing any more doesn't make sense to me right now; it's a very short kind of chapter. That and I'm still trying to rejuvenate my writing juices as far as JML goes. Thanks for coming back guys; I will try to update sooner next time!**

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**Seventeen: Peeta**

The first thing I'm aware of is that the sun is hot on my face and I know without opening my eyes that the snow must be gone. I feel like I'm lying in a desert judging by the heat that envelopes me and it's not entirely unpleasant. After days of snow and ice, a parched climate sounds just peachy.

The second thing I notice is that I feel stiff to the point of pain. Slowly, I peel back my eyelids so that I can inspect the damage as memories flood my mind. The hallucinations, the tracker jackers, the Careers that cornered me, the moment I almost lost my life. I push them all away eagerly; I can't afford to think about things that terrify me.

I'm sitting up now, staring quizzically down at my arm where a wad of green leaves have been pressed to my skin. I shuck it away from me and feel a sense of relief when I see that the swollen points from the tracker jacker venom are no longer there. There are a few more clumps of leaves on me and I brush them off quickly. I don't know who did this—maybe it had something to do with sponsorship back in the Capitol—but if I'm coming to then that means anyone else who got stung is also regaining consciousness and could very well be hunting me now.

Pain cripples my limbs as I try to stand and I stagger a few feet before I fall to my knees. Dizziness washes over me and I suck in a large breath of air to steady myself.

"The venom is still in your system. You should probably wait a few more hours before you try to go anywhere."

My eyes widen and I glance up above me toward the sound of the whispered, childish voice. Rue stares down from a tree branch huddled in a space between boughs. Her expression is uncertain and I feel a rush of understanding when I see her looking at me this way; she was the one who helped me. Not my sponsors. This little girl who had the possibility to reclaim her life if I had died.

"You're the one that helped me, weren't you?" I say, brushing back a lock of hair from my face; it is damp with sweat and curling with the humidity.

She hesitates a moment before nodding. I stare at her and I can't believe the amount of compassion she has, for protecting me for however long I was unconscious. I don't know what I'm supposed to do about having her in the Games, but I do know that I will return the favor for as long as I can. Not because I feel obligated, but because it's what she deserves.

"Who's still alive, Rue?" I use her name purposefully and try to make myself sound as unimposing as possible.

She relaxes against the branch and pauses before speaking. "Just the boy Careers from One and Two, the girl from Two, us, my district boy Thresh, the girl from Five and your district girl. Everyone else died from either the tracker jackers or the tornado."

My heart skips a little bit; there are so few of us left. I decide to ignore the deep, ugly feeling in my gut when Vesna is mentioned. That is a can of worms I don't need to open right now. "Tornado?"

"Yeah. It ripped half the arena to shreds in a day, but the next morning after the last canon rang, it looked like nothing happened at all," she tells me with her sweet little voice.

I smile at her. "Thank you. For everything."

Even from here, I can see a pink little blush spread across her cheeks. "It's okay."

"I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."

She hesitates again before gingerly picking her way down the tree. Once at the trunk, she still maintains a distance, but her face is open. Trusting. "I know. That's why I helped you." I watch and remain as still as possible as she inches her way toward me. "Also. . .because of that."

I glance down at my chest where she's pointing to see the glimmer of gold against the black material of the tough jacket. My heart swells instantly because there will never not be a time when I see the mockingjay pin and think of Katniss. "The pin?" I say softly, remembering the desperation in Katniss' voice when she gave it to me.

Rue nods meekly and comes to sit with her legs crossed about six feet away from me. "Back home, those birds keep us company in the orchards. They're our friends."

I smile at her as gently as I can. "The bird who gave me this pin is my friend too."

She laughs a little and gives me a knowing look, which is far too ancient for her twelve years of age. "Katniss?"

I'm caught; my cheeks feel a little hot. "Lucky guess."

Rue shrugs but she looks much more relaxed than she did a few moments ago. "I know you don't feel hungry now, but you're going to want to eat before the venom is gone. It's been three days since you've eaten anything at all and it'll hurt. There," she says, as she points to an arrangements of nuts and berries on a leaf. A quick once over from where I'm sitting tells me that they aren't poisonous. "I got dinner ready."

I tell her that she's done far too much for me, but she only waves me away and urges me to eat.

I'm not used to being taken care of, especially by someone so frail and small, but I won't say that I don't enjoy it. We even share a few smiles as I eat in silence. My mind is wandering-probably a side effect of the tracker jacker venom-and I need to focus it. Somehow I need to narrow down the competition; more Careers survived the tracker jacker nest than I expected.

Once I'm finished with the assortment of food, I turn to Rue. "Tell me everything you know about the Careers."

To her credit, she only hesitates for a moment before plowing on. "They're definitely mad at you, so ever since they've been out of their venom rut, there has been at least two of them out looking for you. And back at their camp, they've got their food stored up inside the Cornucopia. I've watched the girl from 5 sneak in to steal some; but she did this weird dance I can't figure out."

I take all this in eagerly. The more I know about my threatening opponents the better. It's dangerous for me to team up with Rue because she is so much like Prim; and her willingness to help and protect me is so heartwarming and gentle that I feel sick to my stomach a girl like her is caught up in the Games of the Capitol. Still, perhaps working with her until I can eliminate the Careers might be beneficial.

I know it would make Katniss happy.

Katniss. Thinking about her now feels unreal. Have I imagined her? Is she a true part of my reality? It doesn't feel that way. I've been trapped in this damned hellhole for approximately two weeks now and I can't even begin to wonder how much I've changed in her eyes. Maybe she'll think I'm a monster by the time this is all over. But then again, maybe it won't matter what she thinks. I may be dead at that point.

"Well, do the Careers hunt for their food?" I ask Rue in dread, pulling myself away from Katniss. If I marry myself to thoughts of her now, I'll never win.

Rue thinks about it for a moment before shaking her head. "No. Definitely not. Everything they need comes out of the Cornucopia."

An idea hits me like spark to tinder and I can't help but smile. What a bunch of idiots; placing their food in one central location. I don't care what kind of protective measures they've taken. It was foolish of them to spend their training days at the sparring stations where they've been practicing all their lives instead of trying to learn a new trick in living off the land.

"You know, Rue, I've been thinking," I start off. She looks at me like I've grown two heads. Probably because my tone is so conversational and not at all geared toward our current situation. "We haven't been very polite neighbors. They keep trying to socialize with us, but all we do is hide and runaway."

She still looks confused, but she shrugs. "That's my only chance."

I grin at her. "Not anymore it's not."

A part of me isn't surprised that when I show up at the clearing, serrated knife drawn and at the ready, that Vesna is crouched down under a canopy of trees on the edge of the forest. I move silently within the ring of trees, frowning as I try to make out the other people there.

Vesna. It's just Vesna. The other shapes there are boxes of weapons and utensils that don't need to be guarded by the Cornucopia. This must mean that the others are out hunting me and while it's great that they aren't here, at least I know how to deal with the Careers. Dealing with Vesna is a whole other story.

I watch in the shadows as she perks up and looks out over the horizon. A glance in the same direction tells me that she sees the smoke from the fire Rue has started and I grin. Rue's speed and wits will keep her far away from the danger of the Careers and I'm proud that she has the guts to do this. But it feels good, for once, to be on the offensive. My whole life has been about defending, keeping away, living from day to day. This fighting back notion is new stuff and I'm finding that I love it.

"That idiot!" Vesna says out loud. "Mr. Hunter and Gatherer has spent his whole life outside and he doesn't realize that setting a fire will draw attention to his location?!"

I don't know what in the hell possesses me to do it because Vesna is bad news. Katniss told me as much and I trust her judgment, let alone my own instincts. But before I'm aware of what I'm doing, I've stepped out of the shade and into her direct line of sight, smirking slightly. "It's called a diversion," I say, feeling a tiny bit snarky.

Her face pales for a moment before she smiles widely at me. I'm uncomfortable with it, because no matter how confusing her actions are this smile looks genuine. That's even worse.

"Peeta?"

"Hi, Vesna."

"What are you doing here?"

"What, you aren't going to kill me?"

She frowns. "No, of course not. I don't want you dead. I told you that already. I love you."

I still don't buy it; she's far too manipulating from experience for me to grasp that she has sincere feelings for me. And even if she did, she never stands a chance against my dark-haired, stormy-eyed beauty waiting for me back in the Capitol. Thinking of her makes me wonder of the reaction she must be having to Vesna's words now.

"Yeah, okay," I reply for her benefit. "So when the Careers come back, you're just going to tell them that I ruined the food and got away with it?"

She stares at me for a moment before shouting. "Ruin the food?! You're insane!"

"No, I'm brilliant," I tell her, backing away. I shouldn't have revealed myself to her this way, but maybe a part of me wanted her to know that I was here and that I was going to ruin the Careers. Maybe I wanted her to be able to deliver the message that I'm not through fighting and I'm ready for them. She is the perfect messenger.

"But they'll kill me!"

I shrug and start digging through one of the weapon boxes. "Not my problem." My heart stops when I see a gun-of all things-nestled down at the bottom of a crate, looking shiny and unused. Flashes of memories run through my mind as I remember the power of guns in District 12; they hardly ever make it into the Games because they make the kill too easy. What in the hell is it doing here?

Vesna sees the apprehension on my face. "Found the gun, didn't you?"

I look up at her, nervous that she's come closer. I don't see a weapon in her hands, but that doesn't put me at ease. After all, no one trusts a snake. "Why hasn't it been used?"

"Well, for one thing, the Careers don't know how to use it; they were even bickering about being clueless on how to load it. For another, they think it's a trap and they'll die if they touch it, because it's so rare to see one in the arena."

Damn right, it's rare. Oh well; since there doesn't seem to be an extra bow anywhere in sight, I'm just going to have to make do with this. If Foxface from District 5 did a little dance to get in the Cornucopia, my guess is that the ground is unsafe. I only have to find out why.

"Vesna, how is the food supply being guarded?"

She glances up at me and frowns. "If I tell you, you have to take me with you."

I want to immediately and vehemently reject her but I don't have time to squabble. The third stack of smoke is rising into the air, which means that Rue has lit all the fire stations we've prepared and I'm running out of time to destroy the food source.

I nod reluctantly, though I make a mental note that I've made no promises. Katniss will definitely kill me, if I don't die here first.

"The mines from around the pedestals were removed and replanted in front of the Cornucopia by that district electrical wiz before he died," she tells me and then eyes the gun at the bottom of the barrel. "I bet that if you shoot the ground, it'll blow the Cornucopia sky-high."

I doubt that the Cornucopia is going anywhere because the Capitol has to build those things to withstand years of tourists, but at least we can eliminate the contents inside. I've never held a gun before, but I'm surprised by how easy it fits into my hands. This makes me nervous, I may be a hunter but right now, I feel like a killer. I shake the thoughts from my head and grab the ammunition laying at the bottom. It takes a few tries for me to get it, but finally I have the gun loaded and Vesna is staring at me with wide-eyes.

"You're really going to do it," she says with wide eyes. That injury she sustained the last time I saw her must be healed by the power of the Capitol because she looks fairly clean now. I find myself ashamed that I allowed myself to look into her eyes for just a moment-it feels too personal.

"Of course. If I were you, I'd start running. Once I do this, the Careers will come running like mad." I awkwardly shift the gun into a position I've seen the Peacekeepers use. It's a larger one and I fleetingly wonder if the Careers had somehow been right and this gun is a trap but I decide that even if it does blow me up, at least that will give Rue a fighting chance.

It appears that I don't have to tell Vesna twice. She turns on her heel and I thank my lucky stars for her inability to fully think things through because she doesn't realize that I will run in the opposite direction of her to meet up with Rue.

I fumble with the gun and press the butt of it harder against my shoulder. I'm not sure how this works; the Peacekeepers in District 12 have only fired them a handful of times and I never really saw it happen. My fingers feel clammy as I grip the cool metal and point the nuzzle in the direction of the Cornucopia. This is it; what will I do if it doesn't work?

No, it has to work. My life and Rue's life depends on cutting the Careers off from their only source of food. We do that and keep out of their bloody, vengeful hands and we may just watch them weaken and parish of starvation. It would be the ideal way for this to go.

I take a deep breath and steady the weapon in my hands, treating it like a bow. This has to work. I've never needed anything to work more perfectly in my entire life. My eye zeroes in on a particularly suspicious mound of dirt and with another breath, I squeeze the trigger.

Everything happens in slow motion then and it seems like my eyes cloud over as a loud boom-far worse than that of a cannon-rips across the clearing and bounces around the walls of my skull. The force of both the gun reacting and the explosion before me tosses me flat on my back as shrapnel and dirt rain from the sky. I lay there dazed for a moment before I'm covering my head, remembering that I have to protect it.

I'm not sure how long I'm there, still, unmoving. I can't hear anything. I can barely even see; a few trees have caught fire and the smoke coupled with the lingering dirt in the air makes for a dense cloud that scratches my throat when I breathe in. When I can finally manage myself into a sitting position, all my senses are jolted into hyper-awareness and I leap on my feet.

My eyes are meeting dark orbs, piercing into me as a large, dark figure races straight for me. It's Thresh, I know it immediately. Just like I know he's not coming to tell me a joke. His eyes glint with the promise of death; he may not hold anything against me, but I can feel my injuries start to show and I'm vulnerable.

I try to run, but when pain like I've never experienced shoots through me and I look down to see a large gash at the knee, flesh shredded down to the bone. Panic tries to well up in me as I look back at Thresh. I will never escape him if I take the flight path. I don't have time to contemplate what I'm doing because my life is at stake and I can't die because I told Katniss I wouldn't. I still have something important to tell her. And as much as I detest the thought of ending a life, I have something to live for and damn it, I'm going to live for it. For her.

I raise the gun, take aim, and fire.


End file.
